


The Intern

by xXdreameaterXx



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara had wanted this government internship badly, however when she finds her boss, Malcolm Tucker, not only rude but also very disrespectful towards her it drives her to the brink of giving up. Until she decides to accept the challenge. When Malcolm finally shows her the respect she deserves they eventually find themselves in an emotional mess that could threaten his career. Malcolm/Clara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Yes, I remember that we _talked_ about it. I didn't think you were fucking _serious_!” Malcolm yelled into his phone. That stupid cunt Eliot Johnson of human resources had done it. He had finally found a way to get back at him for insulting him and his wife at last year's Christmas party.  
Yet Eliot Johnson remained infuriatingly calm on the other end. “It's just for three months, Malcolm, and I think you will appreciate an extra helping hand after you've gotten used to the idea.”  
He laughed into the phone. “A helping hand, you say? _A fucking helping hand?_ And what's this helping hand gonna do, huh? Wank me off? Wipe my arse? Strangle you in your sleep? I don't need an intern, Eliot, I need to do my work and I can't do that with some pimple faced tosser trailing after me all the time. It's bad enough to babysit politicians all day long for seven days a week, I don't need an actual baby.”  
“Your intern is a she,” Eliot replied quietly, “And I assure you, she's the best in her entire year. English and political science major and absolutely competent.”  
“You know what?” Malcolm snorted, “You should've gone into advertising, Eliot, you can make shit sound like gold. But it doesn't matter how good you make it sound, shit's always gonna stay shit.”  
The man on the other end of the line sighed heavily. “Please, Malcolm, be nice to her. Miss Oswald is already on her way and I don't want her to get a bad impression. You of all people know how it is-”  
“Well, you should've assigned her to someone else, then, shouldn't you?”

It really was the worst case scenario. Not only would he have to deal with an intern, but also a female one. This woman would probably burst into tears the first time he cursed at her. Malcolm didn't need this sort of nuisance in his life. He didn't need an intern at all, not while Nicola was already creating more and more problems with every passing hour. If there was one thing she had taught him, it was that women and their sensitivities and politics didn't mix at all.  
“Malcolm?” Eliot asked cautiously, “You _will_ be nice to her, won't you?”  
He rolled his eyes even though Eliot would never see it. Of course he wouldn't be nice. He would be at his very worst behaviour just to get rid of her as soon as possible. And then the door bell already rang.  
“I suppose that will be her,” Malcolm said angrily with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “I better go and open to the door now, so I'm afraid I'll have to hang up. Would be rude to leave her standing there.”  
He pressed the red button on his phone before awaiting an answer and stormed in the direction of the front door when the bell rang again. Malcolm hated her already for her impatience.  
“I'm coming, alright? I'm fucking coming!” he yelled and tore the door open.  


* * *

Clara cursed herself for wearing heels as she made her way from the bus stop to the address she had been given by Mr Eliot Johnson, dragging her suitcase behind. She was running later than expected thanks to a delayed train but she could still make a decent impression if she just hurried up a little. A government internship was a huge honour, and to be assigned to the infamous Malcolm Tucker was an even bigger one. Clara had heard about him, of course, and she wasn't quite sure whether she should dread the upcoming three months or look forward to them. There was a great deal she could learn from him and if she did well in this internship all the professional doors would be open to her. However, there was the matter of his temper that intimidated her a little.  
Clara checked the map on her phone and compared it to the address she had received and finally found herself standing in front of his house. A typical Victorian house. White walls, tidy front yard, narrow and utterly unremarkable. After a sharp intake of breath she had finally gathered up the courage to walk up to the door and ring the bell. Nothing. Clara tapped her foot nervously before she tried again just as she heard shouting from the other side.  
“I'm coming, alright? I'm fucking coming!”  
A man she knew all too well from the news opened the door, glaring down at her and Clara immediately realized that he was taller than he appeared on TV. And a lot angrier.  
“Wait,” Malcolm Tucker furrowed his brows, “ _You're_ the intern?”  
“Yes,” Clara put on a smile and extended her hand hopefully, “I'm Clara Oswald. Mr. Johnson assigned me to-”  
He looked down at her hand but didn't move to shake it. “Aren't you a bit old to be an intern? What are you? 30?”  
Clara cleared her throat, drawing her hand back immediately. “I'm actually 28,” she said and mumbled the rest, “But thanks for pointing out I look older.”  
“Why are you still at university at 28? Are you simple or something?” he asked boldly, not really bothering that his question might be insensitive.  
Clara frowned at him. “Personal reasons,” she spat back without wanting to. The truth was that she had been staying with friends of the family before starting her classes and the children's mother had died very unexpectedly. She just hadn't had the heart to leave them alone in their grief, so she had postponed her classes.

Obviously Malcolm Tucker was tired of listening to her as he stepped aside and waved his hand impatiently, gesturing for her to step into the house. Clara lifted her suitcase but as soon as he spotted that his will to talk had returned.  
“What's that suitcase for?”  
“I, erm,” Clara spluttered, staring at him. He should know. Why didn't he know? “I just arrived from Blackpool and Mr Johnson said to me it would be better if I stayed with you because yours is a 24-hour-job. He said it would save me the-”  
The man groaned loudly, banging the door shut behind them before slapping his hands in front of his face  
“That fucking arsepiece! I'm gonna rip his fucking balls off and feed them to his cats!”  
Clara took a step back at his outburst and eyed him cautiously. She had known it be would bad, but she hadn't expected Malcolm Tucker to be clueless about her staying at his house – especially after Eliot Johnson had reassured her it would be fine.  
“Is everything alright?” she inquired carefully, not really knowing what else to do.  
Then finally he stared back at her.  
“Yes,” he breathed, “Yes, yes, it's fine. It's fucking fine. Listen!”  
Before Clara could react his hands were on her shoulders, pushing her in the direction of the kitchen while he talked.  
“I have to go to work now and castrate some people working at human resources, but I'll be back tonight. Most likely.”  
“But what about me?” she asked back, “I'm your intern. Shouldn't you take me with you?”  
“Exactly,” Malcolm Tucker sneered at her, “You're my intern and there's a basket full of shirts that need ironing. The iron is in the kitchen cupboard. I'm sure you'll do that perfectly, sweetheart.”  
Clara opened her mouth in protest when Malcolm's phone interrupted her. She didn't even get a word in as he shouted at whoever was on the other end of the line while he reached for his jacket and left the house. By the banging sound, following by complete silence, Clara could tell that she was on her own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so much for the first comments :) I'm so glad that you liked the beginning *is slightly nervous cause it's her first Malcolm fic*

“Do you see this fucking stapler here?” Malcolm yelled at Eliot, who had his back pressed against a wall and seemed to shrink with every passing second he was being shouted at. Eliot Johnson nodded. “Good, cause I will take that stapler and fucking staple your arse cheeks shut. I will staple them shut so thoroughly, you will never be able to take another shit in your life!”  
“Malcolm-”  
“No, this isn't your time to talk! This is the time where you find someone for that intern that is not me! Is that clear?!”  
“But-,” Eliot tried, whimpering, but Malcolm threatened him with the sound of the stapler right in front of his face and the man twitched and shut up instantly.  
“I don't want an intern. I don't have time for a fucking intern. And I most certainly don't want her staying at my fucking home! Settle that, Eliot!”  
“But Malc-”  
Eliot Johnson was interrupted again when there was a knock on his office door and a few moments later Tom stepped inside, wearing a wide smile on his face.  
“Ah, I thought it was Malcolm I heard shouting in here. Is everything alright? Has the intern arrived yet?” the Prime Minister asked.  
Malcolm let out a tired groan as soon as he realized what exactly was going on. Apparently everyone had known about Miss Oswald, except for him. But before he could say anything the Prime Minister already continued.  
“Let me just say, Malcolm, thank you for taking her on. I know you're swamped with work but I think it is so important that you agreed to do this. You're irreplaceable here and you know that, right?”  
Malcolm snorted. “Of course I know that. This party is like a fucking flock of sheep, bleating their madness all over the news.”  
“And we need more of your kind. We need more Malcolms. So I really appreciate you teaching her. I haven't met her personally but from what Eliot here tells me she has a lot of potential.”  
Malcolm took a long, deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts about the matter at hand. His intern, Miss Oswald, was a way for Eliot to get back at him and she had also been approved of by the Prime Minister. He racked his brain for a way he could make it plain to these two dimwits that he simply didn't have the time and patience to deal with their fuck ups.   
“Tom,” he began, smiling as nicely as he could, “I know you think what you're doing is right, but it's not. This intern is not going to be of any help. She will most likely end up in asylum for the mentally unstable by the end of the week and that's going to be your fucking fault. Give her to someone else. Give her to Eliot!”  
“I have an intern already,” Eliot argued and Malcolm rolled his eyes. Their limited minds simply didn't understand what a bad idea it was.  
“Please,” Tom almost begged him, “Give her a chance. Just a week or two. If you still think she's of no use we will find someone else for her, but I really, _really_ need more people with your skills, especially now as the election is drawing closer.”

The election card. Fuck it! The Prime Minister wasn't entirely wrong for once. They did need more of him with all those party bunglecunts fucking up the simple task of not being a complete dobber on the news. However Malcolm sincerely doubted that Miss Oswald was the right person for the job, the right person for this internship. What he needed was someone fierce, a quick thinker who could give those twits a good bollocking when it was needed.  
Malcolm groaned and raised his index finger in a threatening manner. “I'll try, okay? I'll fucking try. I'll give her a chance but if this blows up in your face, you don't come crying to me about it!”  
He turned around on his heels and stormed out of Eliot's office, slamming the door shut behind him. This whole intern business was going to end badly, probably by the end of her first week. Malcolm knew it. He just knew.

* * *

Clara sighed into phone. “You said I could call you if I was having a bad day. Well, I'm having a bad day.”  
“Already?” Amy asked on the other end of the line, “Your internship started when? An hour ago?”  
That seemed about right. After Malcolm Tucker had left her alone in his house Clara had paced the kitchen for almost an hour, considering her options while throwing the hamper holding his shirts a disdainful glance every now and then. She wasn't here to play his housemaid, she was his intern.  
“I think he didn't even really know about this internship,” Clara tried to explain to her friend, “He was surprised when I showed up with my suitcase and he was a real jerk about it. He told me to iron his shirts! _And_ he called me sweetheart.”  
“Oh Clara,” Amy sounded pitiful, “I wish I could say something other than _I told you so_. Malcolm Tucker is a prick and everyone knows it. You knew what you were getting into.”  
“I know,” Clara replied defeatedly, “But he can't really do that, can he? Use me as his own personal maid? He can't expect me to iron his clothes?”  
If he could, that would seem really, really wrong. Clara was here because she was the best political science student in her year and she was here to learn things, not manage his household.  
“I don't know, Clara, and I'm sorry but I've got a client coming in any minute now. Hang in there, okay? Maybe it'll get better,” Amy tried to reassure her but she did so very badly.  
“Thanks,” Clara replied half-heartedly and hung up before sliding the phone back into her pocket.   
Once more she glanced at the pile of shirts and came to a decision: she wouldn't play Malcolm Tucker's maid. Instead she drew out her tablet and started browsing the internet to pass the time.

It was late when the front door opened and _her boss_ returned from work. Clara wasn't only annoyed and bored out of her mind by that time, she was also very hungry. Luckily for her Malcolm Tucker entered the kitchen and dropped a plastic bag on the table that smelled a lot like Chinese takeout. She rose from her chair to be a littler closer to eye level with him even though he still much taller.  
“You can stay,” he said harshly, raising his index finger at her, “But there are a few ground rules. If you fuck up, you go. If you're in the way, you go. If you become a fucking nuisance, you go.”  
Clara swallowed hard but remained looking at him. She could do this. And she would.  
“You will do as I tell you and-,” Malcolm broke off, pointing at the laundry basket, “Why didn't you iron the shirts?”  
She straightened her shoulders, trying her best to appear taller. “Because I'm not a maid. Ironing clothes was not part of the job description when I applied for this internship,” Clara replied determinedly.  
Malcolm sneered at her. “We will get to the fucking job description once you've proven yourself. Now let's eat. I'm fucking starving.”  
He plopped down on one of the chairs and started unwrapping the Chinese food while Clara remained staring at him. It took him a moment to notice.  
“Is there anything else?” his voice was heavy with annoyance.  
She folded her arms in front of her chest. “Do you have to swear so much?”  
“Why? Do you have a fucking problem with my fucking swearing?” Malcolm glared at her.  
“No,” she replied simply and sank back into her chair as he pushed one of the boxes in her direction. Those three months couldn't be over soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for the comments, guys :D

Clara woke up much earlier than she had expected after not being able to sleep for hours and she felt tired, if not exhausted. Nevertheless she knew she would never be able to go back to sleep in this strange room in a strange house where she felt anything but welcome.   
The night before, after dinner, Malcolm Tucker had led her to the guest bedroom, which was nothing if not scarcely furnished. A single bed, a small desk and a wardrobe. Clara didn't need a lot of imagination to tell that no one ever slept in there. After all, who would visit this insufferable man?  
Determined to make a good impression on him despite his rudeness Clara got dressed and brushed her teeth before applying a thin layer of make up. Maybe, if she was lucky, he would take her with him today and no matter what happened – Clara would be prepared. She walked downstairs, noting once more how tidy everything was except for the hamper with his shirts that blocked the kitchen counter. Sighing, she decided to simply do it. It was beneath her and she knew it, but she needed to pass the time until he woke up somehow. She would iron his shirts this once and never again. Clara had half a mind to just pack her things up and leave as she searched for the iron, but she reminded herself of how important this internship was for her career. Three months. It was only three months.  
When she was ironing the second shirt Clara started to hear water running upstairs and when she started the third Malcolm Tucker came stomping downstairs.  
“Good morning,” she greeted him in a friendly manner, hoping his mood was better than yesterday.  
He looked up for a moment, mumbled a _good morning_ in reply before he went to retrieve the newspaper from his doorstep. Clara waited patiently for him to come back and pay attention to her, but instead Malcolm headed straight towards his briefcase and stuffed the newspaper inside.  
She cleared her throat. “Are we going to have breakfast or head straight to the office?” Clara asked him hopefully.  
Finally he looked up, if only briefly. “I never have breakfast. I usually buy something on the way.”  
“Oh,” she uttered, “Well, that's fine, I guess.”  
When Malcolm looked up again his eyes fixed on her for a moment longer before he started to chuckle. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you the impression we'd be going to the office together. _You_ are staying right here. Help yourself to some breakfast if you like.”  
“I want to come with you,” Clara replied determinedly, setting down the iron with a louder bang than she had anticipated, “I'm your intern. You said so yesterday.”  
“No, what I said yesterday was that you will have to prove yourself to me,” he explained.  
“How am I supposed to do that if you don't let come with you?” she asked him, her tone angry. This internship got worse with every passing second and she was beginning to actually hate Malcolm Tucker.  
He pointed at the iron. “Well, you started on the shirts. That's a good start.”  
“I am not your maid!” Clara yelled but he didn't appear to be listening to her any longer. Instead he continued to sort the contents of his briefcase.

Clara was fuming with rage at his behaviour but just as she was about to call him an arsehole her gaze dropped to a stack of post-it notes and a pen lying on the table. Before she could think better of it Clara used the moment that Malcolm was distracted, took the pen in her and and scribbled “twat!” on one of the post-its.  
“Alright, I'll be off,” Malcolm Tucker announced and turned away from her to head towards the door, “I'm sure you'll find something to occupy yourself with.”  
“Oh, hang on,” Clara called him back, “There's something on your back.”  
“Why? What is it?” he asked her in confusion.  
Clara walked up to him and pretended to brush something off his jacket before sticking the note where everyone could see it. He would kill her if he found out, but Clara didn't care about that right now. She just wanted a way to get back at him. Any way.  
“Lint,” she explained, clearing her throat, “All gone now.”  
Malcolm straightened his shoulders and for the first time he smiled at her in a sincere manner. “Thank you. You might make a good intern yet, sweetheart.”  
Before Clara could tell him off for calling her sweetheart Malcolm Tucker had turned around and stepped out of the house and she almost regretted not being there when the first person saw the post-it on his back.

* * *

Malcolm stormed into the DoSAC office and threw the newspaper right into Ollie's face. That blithering idiot almost fell backwards with his chair in his surprise before he could catch his balance again and looked at him, startled.   
“Why didn't you fucking stop her?” Malcolm bellowed at the young man.  
“I-I'm. . . uh. . .”  
“ _It is important that children are properly educated and disciplined_ ,” he quoted Nicola Murray, “ _Disciplined!_ I'm surprised the headline doesn't read 'Nicola Murray endorses corporal punishment'!”  
“Have you ever been able to stop Nicola Murray from doing something mid-interview?” Ollie asked him back, that stupid Ollie-grin on his face.  
“Don't be smart with me or you'll find out whether your balls fit into the printer's paper tray,” he hissed threateningly, “Where is she?”  
Ollie nodded towards her office and when Malcolm turned around he could see her trying to hide behind the frosted glass. Then all of a sudden Ollie burst into laughter behind him. Strange. That was about the third time this had happened today. Even the Prime Minister had found some weird reason to laugh in his presence.  
“What?” Malcolm barked.  
“Oh, nothing,” he chuckled and quickly hid his mouth behind his hand, “Just thought of something funny.”  
Malcolm scoffed at Ollie's immature behaviour and made his way straight into the Nicola's office without even knocking.  
“You're going to fix this,” he said determinedly, pointing at Nicola, “And you better have a good explanation ready for when the first calls come in and, trust me, that fucking phone is gonna start ringing any time now.”  
“Hello Malcolm,” Nicola said, her voice dripping with annoyance. That woman was as fit for politics as a blind man for flying a plane. She didn't have the right to be annoyed.  
“What were you thinking?!”  
“I wasn't thinking!” she tried to defend herself but that was the worst defence Nicola could have possibly come up with.  
Malcolm groaned and buried his face in his hands while turning his back towards her and then it happened again. Nicola Murray started to laugh. Malcolm shot around instantly.  
“Okay, what is it?” he bellowed, “Don't say _nothing_ because I know that you laughed for a reason!”  
Nicola suppressed a chuckle. “You, erm, you've got something-,” she broke off but made a gesture indicating that there was something on his back. Malcolm reached behind himself and soon felt a piece of paper with his fingers. He ripped it off to have a look.  
“Twat!” he read out loud. How original. Who would be brave enough to-

Clara. Clara Oswald.

Now even Malcolm had to laugh. She was brave, he had to admit that much. Clara Oswald had played the cheapest, most childish trick on him and she had probably entertained dozens of people by writing a simple note. Malcolm vowed that she would pay for that, and he would would find a better way to do that than a pitiful post-it note.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *group hug* thanks soooo much for the comments!

Malcolm Tucker returned to his house when it was already after 10 pm and Clara hadn't really known what to do with her time, so she had decided to make dinner. Maybe it was also meant as a sort of apology in case he had noticed the post-it note, something to soften his anger. However when Clara saw him step into the kitchen he was smiling at her.  
“Hi,” Clara greeted him carefully.  
“Hi,” he said back before he dropped his briefcase and jacket on the kitchen chair. The post-it appeared to be gone.  
Malcolm approached the oven Clara was standing at and took the spoon out of her hand to stir and smell the soup. “Not bad,” he said, tasting a small spoonful, “Could do with some lovage.”  
Clara took a step back and regarded him warily for a moment. She had been so certain Malcolm would come home angry, yelling at her because of the note on his back and yet there was nothing whatsoever indicating that he knew. In fact, he was actually nice for once.  
“I've got a little assignment for you,” Malcolm said casually as he retrieved two plates from the cupboard and set them down on the table.  
“Oh?” Clara cocked her eyebrows at him, trying to sound excited when in fact she still felt uncertain about where this was going. Why was he being nice? Why he had changed his mind about giving her something to do?  
When Malcolm had taken the soup off the hob and set the pot down on the table, he indicated towards Clara to take a seat, which she did. He said nothing while he filled their plates and Clara was still waiting for an answer after they had begun eating. And then finally he started to come out with it.  
“Nicola Murray has fucked up yet again, so I'm making her give a speech tomorrow to announce a new policy,” Malcolm explained, his mouth full.  
“Yeah, I read the article today. It sounded like she was in favour of beating kids,” Clara suppressed a laugh, knowing that it would probably not be appreciated right now, “What kind of policy are we talking about?”  
Malcolm smiled at her, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Somehow Clara though he looked downright smug. “That is where you come in, sweetheart,” he told her.  
“Me?” she asked, not really knowing what exactly he was meaning by that.  
“Yes, you. You will come up with a decent policy and write a speech Nicola fucking Murray can hold tomorrow morning.”  
“What?!” Clara almost shouted in disbelief. Even if she had done that before, which she hadn't, there was simply no way she could do all of that by herself, especially not in just one evening.  
“Knock yourself out, go crazy,” Malcolm told her, “But I want it finished by morning and it better be good or you can fucking kiss your internship here goodbye.”  
“That's not possible! I've never done that before!” Clara tried to argue but Malcolm suddenly rose from his chair, glaring down at her.  
“It's either that or packing your bags, sweetheart,” he said casually, “Anyway, thanks for dinner. We can work on your cooking skills later.”

Clara had no idea what to say when he just turned around and headed up the stairs, leaving her alone with her new assignment that she thought she would never be able to finish without working a night shift. Clara had a very long night ahead of her, but she was still determined to prove herself to him even though he was a complete arse.

* * *

Malcolm hated the fact that this intern was staying at his home, invading his privacy. The mere presence at his house irritated him and when he woke up the next morning he couldn't wait to finally kick her out after she surely hadn't finished the assignment he had given her. Malcolm groaned and fell back into the pillows, uttering a series of curse words at a low volume. He had woken up hard and he couldn't possibly wank off in peace knowing that Clara was just next door. It was as if he was trapped in his own house with no opportunity to move around as he pleased. Fucking hell!  
When he heard the shower running Malcolm knew that Clara was up as well and every thought he had had about paying some special attention to his morning wood dissolved into thin air. He wouldn't be caught jerking off by his bloody intern. Three months. Three long, long months. Malcolm had to get rid of her.

He almost bumped into Clara when she walked out of the bathroom and he was just making his way downstairs.  
“Hey, watch where you're going,” Malcolm barked at her before he took a good look at Clara, “Wow, you look like shit after a day out in the sunshine.”  
“Thanks,” Clara glared at him through tired eyes, “If you don't mind, I'd like to go to sleep now. The speech is downstairs on the kitchen table.”  
“Hang on,” Malcolm reached for her arm before she could go anywhere, “You've finished it?”  
“Of course I did,” she drawled her words and Malcolm thought Clara's eyes would fall shut any second now. Nevertheless he needed to know what she had written.  
“Come downstairs,” he told her, “I wanna read that.”  
Apparently she was too tired even to protest as she followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen where Malcolm already saw the speech neatly printed out, lying on the kitchen table. He picked it up and started reading. . . and instantly regretted the nasty trick he had played on her. At least he regretted it a little.  
Clara Oswald was nothing if not fucking talented. Not only had she come up with a good and profound policy on after-school child care that he would most definitely pass on to Nicola, but she had also written an interesting and lively speech about it. Too bad everything he had told her last night had been a lie.  
“That's. . . that's really good,” Malcolm couldn't help but admit it. Those wankers at DoSAC could actually learn a thing or two from Clara.  
“Really?” he heard the surprise in her voice, “You think so? Mrs Murray will present it like that?”  
“Ah, about that,” Malcolm granted her an apologetic smile, “I'm afraid there is no speech and there is no policy. I was messing with you.”  
Clara's face turned into a frown. “What?”  
Malcolm gave her a shrug.  
“Why?” Clara asked him in disbelief, “I worked on this all night! I thought it was important!”  
Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Malcolm drew out the little post-it note that Clara had written and held it in her direction.  
“Oh,” she uttered, lowering her gaze to her feet, “Sorry.”  
“You can apologize later. Now we're going to DoSAC to tell them about your pretty, little policy. I think they'll be very interested,” he waved at her to follow him to the door but Clara didn't move. She seemed fucking frozen to the spot.  
“What are you waiting for? Get a fucking move on!”  
“Mr Tucker-”  
“Call me Malcolm.”  
Clara sighed, shaking her head slightly. “I worked on this all night. I didn't even get three hours of sleep,” she argued.  
“Welcome to politics, now come on! You don't want to be late to your first day at the office, do you?” Malcolm urged her.

Clara protested no further. Instead he watched as she reached for her bag and jacket and followed him outside. Maybe she would make a decent intern after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop! Thank you so much for the lovely comments! I'm so happy that you like this story and I promise we're going to get a move on soon-ish in their relationship :D

Clara felt was if she was about to fall asleep. Even though her body was moving and her feet were taking one step after another while she was trailing after Malcolm, the only thing that really kept her awake was his shouting that occasionally happened when they passed someone else in the hallway. Clara had known that Malcolm Tucker was rude, she had read about it in the newspapers, but they hadn't been able to prepare her for this. The man was actually frightening – not her, but whoever he shouted at. Clara, on the only hand, simply felt annoyed by his manner.  
He came to an abrupt halt as soon as they had stepped into the DoSAC offices and turned to face her. “You stay here. I'm gonna have a brief chat with Nicola Murray.”  
Clara simply nodded. She was too tired to protest and beg Malcolm to take her with him. She didn't even want to be in the same room when he shouted at the poor woman, all she really wanted was to stand here and stare at the wall until she could finally go to sleep.

However she wasn't left in peace for very long and soon enough Clara started to notice a young man with curly hair and glasses slowly inching closer to her. He had his hands in his pockets and was smiling rather oddly at her.   
“Helloooo,” the man greeted her in a friendly, slightly strange manner.  
“Uhm, hi,” Clara said back, frowning at the man in front of her.  
Clara waited to him to say more, to give a reason as to why he had approached her but it took him a long time and a questioning look from her before he started talking.  
“Can I help you?” he asked, “You look a bit lost. Who are you here to see?”  
“Oh, I'm not here to see anyone,” Clara explained, “Just waiting for my boss. Malcolm Tucker. I'm Clara Oswald, the new intern.”  
“Clara Oswald,” the smile on the man's face grew and he nodded to himself, “I'm Ollie Reeder. Special adviser to Nicola Murray. Your boss is currently shouting at my boss, so we better keep our distance.”  
Clara chuckled. “That's what I was planning to do.”  
Even though to Clara the conversation seemed to be over Ollie Reeder didn't make the slightest attempt to move away from her.   
“So,” Ollie began, shuffling his feet, “What's it like? Working for Malcolm Tucker? Do you get, like, a list of curse words that you have to learn so you know what they mean when he shouts them at you?”  
The young man laughed, obviously finding himself very hilarious. Clara forced a smile when she started getting the impression he was only talking to her because she had a pretty face.  
“He hasn't shouted at me. Yet. Well, not really,” she explained, “I thought he was going to after-”  
Clara broke off, not really sure whether she should tell this stranger about the post-it note. But an expression crossed over Ollie's face only seconds later and he started to grin broadly.  
“Ohhhhh, it was you!” he realized, “The twat sign. Wasn't it?”  
She bit down on her lip, not really knowing what to say. In retrospect she felt sorry for doing it, pinning an insulting note to the back of a highly regarded political figure. It had been an immature and silly thing to do. However, Malcolm's revenge hadn't exactly been first class either, so Clara guessed they were even now.  
“Yes, that was me,” she admitted.  
Ollie smiled at her. “I like you, Clara Oswald, and I have a feeling we're going to get along really well.”  
Clara nodded, even though she wasn't quite so sure about that.

* * *

Malcolm slammed the door shut behind him and was ready to storm out of the building when he suddenly came to a halt as he saw Ollie talking to Clara. What was that fucking git up to now? Whatever it was, it was making Clara laugh and that was unacceptable. They were probably joking about that fucking sign Clara had pinned to his back the day earlier.  
“Hey, hey, hey, don't you have work to do, Ollie?” Malcolm approached them, interrupting that idiot mid-sentence.   
“Malcolm,” Ollie smirked at him. Oh, how he would love to wipe that look off his face. “I was just talking to your new intern. She was telling me about the great policy she came up with last night. You should keep her.”  
Malcolm grimaced at him before he turned his attention towards Clara. “Would you mind waiting in the car? We're leaving as soon as I've stuffed this one's head into a locker.”  
Clara frowned at him, but luckily she didn't protest as she turned around and headed out of the office with Ollie still chuckling and staring after her until she was out of sight.  
“She looks exhausted, Malcolm, what have you done to the poor girl? Have you kept her up all night?” Ollie laughed and imitated a thrusting movement with his hips.  
Malcolm rolled his eyes.  
“Oh, come on,” he said, still grinning broadly, “It's not that often that you see something pretty in this office. Except for me, of course.”  
“I wonder what your girlfriend would say if she heard you talking like that. You're still fucking that bitch from the opposition, aren't you?” Malcolm said sharply.   
“Still fucking her, yes. Why? Jealous?”  
“No,” he growled, “You do realize that when the say _fuck the shadow cabinet_ , they usually don't mean that literally, right? Besides, a woman like Clara would probably tear your little cock to pieces before it got anywhere close.”  
Ollie scoffed. “Not as little as you might think.”  
Malcolm raised his finger in a threatening manner. “Keep it in your pants!” he warned him, “Clara has actually done a pretty good job with this policy, a better job than you have done in the past few years, so I would keep my fucking mouth very tightly shut if I were you or I'll have Clara replace you once she has graduated.”  
Ollie sneered at him. “She's got you whipped, hasn't she? Is that all it takes? A childish note and a job well done? Or were there. . . other . . _jobs_ involved?”  
“I'm starting to think it's you that's fucking jealous,” Malcolm laughed.  
“Why would I be?”  
He shrugged as he made his way towards the exit. “Because I have the pretty intern and all you have is Glenn.”

Malcolm shut the door behind him and felt glad to be out of this fucking madhouse that called itself DoSAC. Nevertheless it had all gone extremely well. He had presented Clara's policy to Nicola and she had liked it, which had come as a surprise because Malcolm hadn't thought she would be able to admit it, limited as her horizon was. He was also determined to give Clara a fair chance in her internship, even though he hadn't wanted her at first. But she was smart and she had a talent and Malcolm would be fucking stupid to let that go to waste. And yes, Clara was also very pretty, so he could show her off in front of Ollie and all the other dimwits. Now all Malcolm needed to do was to be as nice to her as was needed to keep for three months.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love weekends and having time to update my fics :D Thank you so much for your comments, babes!

Without even saying goodnight Clara started dragging her exhausted body upstairs. Not only had her boss kept her up all night out of revenge with a policy that was never meant to be urgent – even though Malcolm had praised her for it afterwards – he had also made Clara sit through an entire day at DoSAC and Number 10. She probably would have been more impressed if she hadn't been so damn tired but right now she just couldn't find the enthusiasm to actually enjoy any part of her internship any longer. Even the thought of quitting had crossed her mind a couple of times during the day. Now all Clara wanted was her bed.  
“Hey, where are _you_ going?” Malcolm's voice made her stop when she was halfway up the stairs.  
After taking a deep breath Clara slowly turned around, trying to glare at him and probably failing because she could hardly keep her eyes open. “To bed,” she growled.  
“I was thinking we could talk about your first official day of the internship,” Malcolm replied, “That was what you wanted, right? To be my intern? Well, I thought you did a pretty good job today and-”  
“No,” Clara replied, exhaling sharply. She was so done with this entire day that even listening to him was making her head spin. She didn't even care that she was raising her voice, “I was up all night because you tricked me into thinking I had work to do. I don't want to talk, I don't want to listen to you talk, I just want to sleep!”  
Clara regretted the words as soon as she had shouted them at Malcolm. She was absolutely aware that that wasn't the way to talk to her boss, that she had probably made him angry but she was just so tired that the next words coming out of his mouth would make her snap entirely. So before that could happen she simply turned back around and headed upstairs, closing the door of the guest bedroom behind her. 

She had overstepped a boundary, Clara knew that as soon as she sank down on the bed, but right now she was even too tired to go back downstairs and apologize. Well, even if that was the end of her internship now, at least Malcolm Tucker had liked her policy. She could put that in her future applications once she was done with university. Clara scoffed at the thought of how much of a mess this entire internship was and rolled on her side before falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

* * *

No one was allowed to shout at Malcolm Tucker, at least not without being shouted at louder in return. And yet Clara Oswald had done it and he had stood there, slightly baffled at her audacity once more and that was when it had hit him. Clara was definitely the right person for this sort of job. She was sharp, clever and didn't seem to be scared of anything at all. And she was also mad at him. Maybe even mad enough to quit the internship. Malcolm reasoned that he had to do something to keep her for the upcoming three months and, who knew, maybe get her back as soon as she had finished her university degree if she survived the entire internship.

The next morning Malcolm woke up a little earlier and went downstairs to do something he hadn't done in a very, very long time, especially not for two: make breakfast. He was so determined to make Clara stay that he went all out. He prepared both tea and coffee, not really sure which one of those she liked, he boiled some eggs, fried bacon and placed some slices of toast in the toaster. If anyone knew just what lengths he went to to soften Clara's mood he would never be able to show his face anywhere ever again. That cunt Ollie Reeder would never stop laughing for the rest of his life. However when Malcolm opened the fridge to add some fresh fruits to the breakfast menu he let out a series of curse words when he realized he had forgotten to go shopping.

What did that fridge do to you?” a voice behind him asked and when Malcolm turned around he spotted Clara standing in his kitchen, already dressed for the day. She didn't look as tired anymore and Malcolm realized for the first time how right Ollie had been with his remark about her being pretty. He hardly ever paid attention to the way women looked like and why would he? As if his job would leave him time for any kind of love or sex life.  
“The fridge is fucking empty, that's what it's done to me,” Malcolm cracked a smile, but Clara's face remained cold even at his attempt of a joke. So he decided it was time to change the topic. “Anyway, I made breakfast. Come and sit!”  
Malcolm gestured for her to sit down and Clara did so only reluctantly while he switched on the toaster.  
“Why?” she asked warily, “I thought you said you didn't eat breakfast at home.”  
He sank down on the seat across the table and looked straight at her. “I did it so we could talk about your internship.”  
“Right,” Clara snorted, “Is that the point where you tell me I still have to prove myself or where you tell me it's just not working out and I need to leave?”  
“Not at all,” Malcolm leaned back in his chair, “This is the point where I'm telling you that you have a lot of potential. That little trick I played on you showed me exactly what I needed to see: you're not afraid of a challenge, you have a knack for politics and writing and you are so determined that you worked through the night and still went to the office with me the next day. And you did that as a fucking intern with lousy pay. If only all those morons that call themselves MPs were like that. I want you to do this internship and I want you to be good at it. Do you?”  
Clara looked at him for a moment and Malcolm swore he could see a hint of pride on her face. She was probably loving his praise right now. Finally, after making him wait, a smile spread over her face.  
“Alright,” Clara agreed.  
Malcolm frowned at her, only to see her roll her eyes as an answer.  
“Yes, yes, I do. I do want that internship,” she admitted, “And I want to be good at it.”  
“Good choice,” he said and offered her a slice of toast that had just popped out of the toaster. Clara accepted it with a thank you.  
“You know, I threatened Ollie yesterday to have you replace him,” Malcolm threw in after they had taken their first few bites.  
Clara chuckled. “How did he take it?”  
“Not seriously, that's for fucking sure. He doesn't know how that works.”  
“Do you always swear so much?” she asked him once more.  
Malcolm laughed in reply. Oh, she would learn soon enough. “I give you a month on this job and you'll be swearing like a sailor, too. Swearing and threats of violence, that's the only two languages those fuckers understand.”  
Clara smiled at him and took a sip from her mug. Malcolm had three months to train her. Three months and they could become the best fucking team this country had seen in an very long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updaaaaaaate :) Thank you so much for the sweet comments!

Clara set the cup of coffee down on Malcolm's desk and granted him a smile, which he briefly replied before he continued to talk on the phone. She checked her watch, surprised at how time had flown on this Friday and in an hour her third week as his intern would be over. Smiling to herself now Clara knew she could be proud of everything she had done so far and Malcolm was nothing if not pleased with her work. By now she was allowed to handle some of his phone calls and give advise to politicians while he stood next to her, nodding in approval. Just last Monday she had also been allowed to help the Prime Minister with a speech after Malcolm's suggestion. Everything was going perfectly.  
“Is there something else you'd like me to do?” Clara asked him once he had hung up on Ollie Reeder.   
“Actually, there's-”   
The ringing of the phone interrupted his sentence and Malcolm reached for the Blackberry to answer, indicating towards her to wait for another moment. Then his entire posture changed in front of her. His forehead wrinkled in deep frowns and Clara could see him grow tense.  
“He did _what?!_ ” Malcolm shouted at the person on the other end of the line. Burying his face in his hand he apparently listened to whatever story he was being told, growing visibly impatient the longer it went on, “The Daily Mirror. Of course it's the Daily fucking Mirror. Fuck! Why was he even asking in the first place? Nevermind, cause he's a fucking dimwit. Yes, I'll settle it somehow. Just keep him from accidentally stumbling into a damn brothel.”  
Malcolm hung up and slammed the phone down on his desk, inhaling sharply.  
“What happened?” Clara asked sheepishly, biting down on her tongue. She could tell by his expression that it was something nasty.  
“That fucking idiot asked a fucking hooker for directions,” Malcolm complained.  
Clara cleared her throat. “Who exactly?”  
“The fucking Prime Minister!”

Okay, that was even worse than nasty. The Prime Minister had flown to Spain a few days ago and with the information Malcolm had just given her and the words “Daily Mirror” she had overheard during the phone call Clara could imagine all too well just what kind of story was circulating in the news right now.   
“Do they have pictures?”  
Malcolm groaned. “Of course they fucking have. Fuck! I'm going to kill him. I'm going to rip out his fucking entrails and strangle him with them!”   
Clara took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “Okay, that's bad, but we can manage this,” she concluded, “What can I do?”  
Malcolm scoffed and sank deeper into his office chair. “You can run to the little shop around the corner and get me a copy of that written pile of crap. And then you can go home.”  
“But I can help,” she protested, “I _want_ to help.”  
After the first few days of this internship Clara wouldn't have thought it possible but now she as actually enjoying it and she wanted to grasp every opportunity to learn something new. Besides, she wouldn't actually know what to do once she got home, not really knowing anyone around London.  
Malcolm granted her a smile. “That's nice, sweetheart, but I'll probably be here all night, shouting and swearing and you've been a model intern all week. Go home,” he told her, “Relax. Enjoy yourself.”  
Malcolm rose from his chair and reached into his briefcase before handing something to her. A key. The key to his house.  
“Come on, take it. Go home.”  
Reluctantly Clara took it from him. “Fine,” she said eventually, “But you will call me if you need an extra pair of hands, right?”  
He snorted. “More likely an extra brain. But not tonight. Enjoy your Friday night.”

* * *

Even though Malcolm had told her to go home and relax Clara was determined to wait up until he returned from Number 10 to hear how it had gone. She used the spare time to make a lasagne, something that could easily be warmed up in the microwave, just in case he felt hungry after a long day at the office. Or rather after a long night because the front door didn't open until after 2 am and Clara jumped up immediately to greet him by the door. Malcolm had looked tired for days, but now he seemed utterly exhausted.  
“How did it go?” Clara asked instantly as soon as the door closed behind him.  
Malcolm let out a long and heavy sigh and Clara could tell by the frown that was still visible on his face that he hadn't been able to fix the matter entirely.  
“I've spoken to Tom and told him what to say in case he's asked about it. However the Daily Mail is full off arseholes who wouldn't even talk to me _at this hour_ , even though those fuckers are definitely still working. As for the woman in question – she cannot be found,” he explained gravely.  
“Well, tomorrow then,” Clara concluded.  
He nodded. “Yes, tomorrow.”  
Malcolm turned around and headed towards the sofa before sinking deep into the cushions and kicking off his shoes. Clara didn't know what else to say, so she took a seat next to him, an arm's length away.  
“I made lasagne. Would you like some?”  
Malcolm turned around to look at her and for a moment Clara wasn't quite sure what he was going to say next while he seemed to scan her with his gaze. “Not right now,” he said eventually, “But how are your massaging skills?”

Clara gave a light shrug before she rose from her seat again and walked around the couch, coming to a halt right behind him to place her hands on his shoulders. His muscles were so tense that Clara thought her hands would tire of this massage before he even felt a thing. Suddenly Malcolm let out a satisfied groan, a sound she had expected from anyone except him. He sounded so grateful, so human as he sank deeper into the sofa.  
“You are a very talented woman, Clara Oswald,” Malcolm said after a moment and even though she couldn't see it Clara knew that he was smiling, “Can I hire you after you've graduated?”  
Clara chuckled. “I'm not actually studying to be a massage therapist, you know.”  
“Shame,” Malcolm inhaled sharply and then she could feel him tense up a little more, “We can't have a scandal now. Tom isn't the most loved PM as it is and the party is weak. A scandal could bring us all down.”  
Clara, now actually tiring of tending to his shoulders, moved her hands up to his head, running her fingers through his short, grey hair to massage his scalp instead. His curls felt a lot softer than she had expected. Malcolm hummed in reply and let his head fall back when she scraped her nails over his skin.  
She had never actually spent much time thinking about her boss, but slowly Clara was beginning to understand a few things about him.  
“You really care about this party, don't you? It's not just a job for you, am I right?” she asked carefully, not sure if she wasn't overstepping some invisible boundaries. Yet Malcolm was tired and he was enjoying her massage, both of which seemed to put him into a talkative mood.  
“This party is my life,” he replied in a low and serious voice, “There is nothing else. The job is me and I am the job. Besides, I love my country and I will do my best to prevent another government from driving it into ruin. That's why we need people like you.”  
Clara raised her eyebrows. “Like me?”  
“Young, passionate brain-owners,” he said, his voice getting slower as if he was about to fall asleep, “You're the future.”  
She was about to withdraw her hands when Malcolm spoke again. “Don't stop,” he whispered and Clara continued to run her fingers through his hair even though she could feel he was falling asleep.

The first impression, and the one given by the newspapers, had been wrong. Malcolm didn't want to be that infamous, swearing media adviser – he had to be just that to hold his party together, to prevent mistakes, to fix things. It was like he had told her. Swearing and threats were probably the only thing that worked on those people, who were only human and couldn't help messing up sometimes. But Malcolm was human, too, and Clara was seeing it for the first time.  
For a brief moment she considered waking him so he could go to bed or setting an alarm for the next morning, but she decided that he probably needed some sleep, so Clara quietly retreated into her own room and left him lying on the sofa.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the sweet comments. How long until Malcolm cracks?

On quiet toes Clara sneaked downstairs the next morning, just in case Malcolm was still asleep on the sofa. And as it turned out, she was right in her suspicion. He was no longer sitting, but must have turned around during the night and was now sleeping spread out over the length of the entire couch. Clara sighed quietly as she walked past him into the kitchen. The poor man must have been utterly exhausted last night or otherwise he wouldn't still be asleep at 9 am. In the three weeks she had already spent with him Clara had noticed a lot of different, contradicting sleeping habits from his side. Some days he came home and went to bed instantly, on other days she thought he didn't sleep at all when she caught him still sitting in front of his laptop at 4 am while she went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. However Clara had never seen Malcolm sleep until 9 but she assumed that he probably needed it right now.  
So Clara made an effort to be as quiet as possible when she poured herself some cereal and set out to make tea and threw him a glance every once in a while to make sure he was still asleep. Like this the infamous, frightening Malcolm Tucker looked almost adorable and after Clara had come to some conclusions about him she was now able to say that she liked him. Quite happy with that realisation about her boss she decided to retreat back to her bedroom when she realized he had finally woken up.

* * *

Malcolm breathed in deeply when he woke up and instantly realized that his neck was hurting. Of course, he had fallen asleep on that damned sofa again after a long day at Number 10. Today would be another one. Somehow he would find a way to fix that problem the fucking PM had gotten himself into again. Maybe Clara would have an idea.  
Clara. Malcolm wanted to groan when he thought of last night, of how he had let his guard down in front of Clara. There was something about her cleverness and wit that felt so familiar, but he mustn't forget that she was his intern and that he couldn't get close to her. Malcolm shouldn't let himself be tricked by her intelligence or her pretty face.  
When he suddenly became aware of a noise coming from the kitchen Malcolm sat up instantly, only to look straight into Clara's face. She was still wearing her pyjamas and carrying a bowl and spoon in the direction of the stairs. Then a very important question was beginning to dawn on him.  
“What time is it?!”   
Clara swallowed a bite. “It's, erm, it's past 9.”  
“Fuck!” Malcolm threw the pillow aside and jumped up from the sofa, the living room spinning around him for a second after the sudden rush of blood. “Why didn't you fucking wake me?”  
“Calm down,” she smiled at him in an infuriatingly calm manner, “It's Saturday.”  
He inhaled sharply. “No, not when the PM was spotted talking to a hooker. It's not fucking Saturday when we have some serious damage control to do. Come on,” he clapped his hands, “Get fucking dressed or I'm taking you to Downing Street exactly the way you are now.”  
“Okay, okay,” Clara sighed in defeat as she made her way towards the stairs, but not without taking a spoonful of her cereal. Something about the way she behaved pushed his buttons at this moment. Clara acted as if she was at home in his house, walking around in her nightwear, eating out of his bowl, using his spoon, massaging his shoulders and head last night. She had no fucking right to act as if she belonged here. It was his home and there was no space for a woman. He didn't bloody need a woman around.  
“Fucking stop that! We haven't got time for food!” he yelled after her and Clara shot around, glaring at him. There was that fury in her eyes that he had seen so often before when he was shouting.  
“Why are you acting like this?” Clara spat back, “Yesterday you were perfectly nice and now. . .”  
Clara broke off, hesitating.  
“Now what?” Malcolm scoffed.  
“Now you're back to being a complete jerk,” she replied, her voice suddenly smaller, “You don't have to bully me to get what you want. I'm not one of your party clowns that you can shout at whenever you please!”

Malcolm took a step back. Clara was right once more and he didn't even understand why he was being rude to her. He enjoyed her presence, he enjoyed her input and admired her work and yet something about her being around him all day bugged him greatly. Whenever Malcolm came home from work he felt the pressure drop off his shoulders and for a few hours he could pretend not to be the swearing spin doctor he was to everyone who knew him. He would cook a lovely meal, he would read a nice book and just not be that man for a while. With Clara around he couldn't. The pressure never stopped, unless he let his guard down by accident. But that was not her fault, not a good enough reason to treat her badly because, like she said, she was anything but one of his fucking party clowns.  
“I'm sorry,” Malcolm mumbled quietly.  
“Sorry, I didn't catch that,” Clara said and he knew just how well she had understood him. She was just enjoying her moment of being right.  
“I said I was sorry. There. Can we go and shout at some other people now?” he asked impatiently.  
A pleased smile spread over Clara's face. “Yes. Yes, we can.”

* * *

Malcolm slammed the phone down on the table. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
“The prostitute simply cannot be found,” he complained loudly, throwing a glance at Clara who was going through the morning newspapers, “Hey, are you even listening to me?”  
She seemed more than distracted even as she lowered the paper and handed it to him. “I think someone found your prostitute after all,” she said.  
He took the newspaper from her and stared at the front page, which, at first glance, was nothing but a picture of a woman leaving an expensive looking hotel. The headline however gave away a little more.

**Prostitute spotted leaving PM's hotel**   
_The same prostitute the Prime Minister was seen talking to just a day before has now been spotted leaving his hotel._

Malcolm stopped reading at once and dropped the newspaper on his desk. “Shit,” he cursed and leaned back in his chair. Talking to a hooker to ask for direction was one matter, the same hooker leaving his hotel was another matter entirely. How were they ever going to set this straight if the woman in question simply couldn't be reached?  
“What are we gonna do?” Clara asked him.  
Malcolm took a deep breath, trying to sort his thoughts. “Well, first of all, the weekend's over, sweetheart.”  
“Figured. But how do we start?”  
He rose from his seat and leaned on his desk, closer to Clara. “We're going to get the biggest cup of coffee available in this city and then we're going to harass people on the phone until they are tired of us and tell us exactly where we can find this woman.”  
Clara smiled broadly at him until the dimples in her cheeks were starting to show. “Sounds like a plan.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments :) Now, hands up who expected this?

Malcolm kicked the desk with his foot and immediately winced in pain, making Clara flinch at the sound. He had spent hours trying to find someone who knew about the prostitute to talk to her, all to no avail. People at The Mirror pretended not to know anything about it, which was an obvious lie because of their recent article. And now The Guardian was running a story about it, too. Malcolm was in a rage like she had never seen before and it was beginning to frighten her in earnest. At this rate he was going to have a heart attack before the day was over.  
“Please, calm down,” Clara urged him gently, “Maybe someone at The Guarding will help us. I will phone them if you like.”  
“Calm down?” Malcolm shot around to glare at her, “I can't fucking calm down! We're in the middle of a fucking crisis here in case you haven't noticed and The fucking Mirror is playing us like a game of cards!”  
He continued to pace the room in front of her, limping just a little, and Clara was hoping he hadn't broken his toe in an attempt to blow off steam.   
Blow off steam. That was exactly what he needed to do. That and relax. She was sure they would get the situation under control somehow, that they could clear everything up with just a little patience. 

Clara jumped up from her seat and walked towards Malcolm, positioning herself right in front of him and forcing him to stop his pace.  
“Stop it,” she told him, placing his hands on his shoulders, “You're wearing down the carpet.”  
“Clara, I-” he started to growl, but she interrupted him once more.  
“No, you listen to me now!” Clara said sternly, looking up at him, “We will handle this. The damage is already done. The story is in the news.”  
Malcolm snorted. “Wow, you really know how to cheer me up, sweetheart.”  
“Cut out the fucking sarcasm!” she shouted back at him, “You need to stop acting like a madman and-“  
Clara broke off when she realized he was laughing and for a moment she thought he had truly gone mad.   
“What?”  
Malcolm snorted. “You’re swearing. Like I told you you would.”  
She rolled her eyes at him, only now realizing that he was right. Damn Malcolm and his internship. “Doesn’t matter,” she brushed it off, “What matters is that you need to calm down. Take a deep breath. Blow off some steam. Cause I think for once you might get what you want by being a little nice to people.”  
“I can’t,” Malcolm groaned, pushing against her hands and Clara instantly realized that she was still holding on to his shoulders. Yet it seemed to be the only way to keep Malcom from running around the room at this point. “This mess is fucking me up! I can’t fucking sit still! I can’t rest until it’s been properly dealt with!”  
Clara groaned. “Do something else with that anger. Something. . . Anything!”  
For a moment Clara didn't know what to make of the way he looked at her, his forehead in deep frowns and his eyes darker than usual. He was also dangerously close and dangerously angry. Then it all happened so fast.

She had no time to process her thoughts when Malcolm launched forward and Clara felt his lips on her own. There was no time to think about it and decide whether she even wanted them there or not and when she parted her lips to breathe Malcolm’s tongue was already pushing inside hungrily. She stumbled backwards in surprise until her back hit his desk and he was pressing he against the surface with the weight of his body.   
Clara’s thoughts were running haywire. She hadn’t even considered kissing her boss at all and now that their lips were locked all she felt was a tingling sensation course through her abdomen and straight down to her sex that told her she indeed like the feeling of him on top of her very much, unsuspected as it was. Malcolm moaned into her mouth as he started rutting against her, parting her legs for him with his knee and Clara let him. Then suddenly he broke away from her.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, panting, “That’s not. . . that’s-“  
Clara swallowed hard, leaning back against the desk when suddenly she was beginning to hate the distance between them. He was her boss, she had never even considered it but, damn, he was great kisser and if he was as passionate in everything else she really wanted to know what it would feel like.   
So Clara said nothing as she jumped to sit on his desk and parted her legs, granting him a good look at her knickers under her dress – which was exactly where his eyes were glued to and Malcolm was back on top of her in a matter of seconds, shoving her skirt upwards and bringing his hand down between her legs, rubbing against the fabric of her knickers until they felt damp and locking their lips in another kiss. This time Clara was prepared. This time she opened he mouth to him when their tongues clashes uncoordinatedly. She tried so hard to keep a clear mind, tried to stay in control of what was happening but Clara soon found herself melt away under his touch. The tingling between her thighs was turning into a burning need to feel more, more of him, and she pushed her hips forward to increase the pressure on her sex.   
Malcolm’s mouth was suddenly gone, as was his hand, and she opened her eyes to see him fumble with his belt right before his trousers dropped to the floor. It occurred to her that anyone might walk in on them as they were about to fuck on his desk at Downing Street but when she saw him, hard and ready, she concluded that she didn’t care. That was his problem, not hers.  
She gasped when he drove inside of her, his entire length filling her up at once and he was immediately beginning to pick up pace. Malcolm seemed almost desperate to be inside her, his thrusts speeding up while Clara hooked her legs around him in support. He felt so big inside her, so hot and satisfying as he plunged into her that Clara tried in vain to suppress her moans.   
“Fuck,” he muttered, a guttural, strained sound, “God, you’re so fucking tight, lass.”  
Clara let out a short cry as one thrust hit particularly deep. She was so close already, so ready to be pushed over the edge. Everything was happening too fast for her to even keep up.  
Malcolm groaned loudly as she tightened her muscles around him, bringing his hands to her hips to guide he around him. When she opened her eyes she saw that his were closed in concentration and that the sweat was starting to run down his forehead, his shirt sticking to his chest. Clara wanted to touch that chest, touch that hair again but then she was beginning to feel the pressure build up inside of her as he continued to dive into her wetness, each thrust bringing he just a little closer until she felt overwhelmed by the sweetness and came just as he was spilling himself inside of her, groaning and a string of curse words on his lips.

Malcolm stumbled backwards, panting heavily, while Clara was still trying to catch her breath as well. She had slept with her boss, the infamous Malcolm Tucker. They just had sex on his desk at Number 10 and it had all happened in a matter of minutes. The realisation was only now beginning to dawn on her as he tucked his shirt back in and fastened his belt. Fuck! What had they been thinking?  
He cleared his throat and looked up, but not at her. “The Guardian, right? We wanted to call The Guardian?”  
Clara nodded even though he didn't see it, already reaching for his phone again. Three weeks into her internship and she had done the thing she would never in a million years have suspected. Now, what was going to happen?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thnak you so much for the sweet comments :)

Malcolm was too aware of the fact that Clara was following him on his heels, even though he wished she didn't. He couldn't talk to her, couldn't even fucking look at her, not after what had happened earlier in his office. Luckily for him Clara hadn't mentioned it with a single syllable and resumed her work until finally someone at The Guardian had had the sense to give out the name of the woman. Clara had talked to her personally, because Malcolm's Spanish was shit, and the prostitute had assured them she would tell any newspaper that asked her nothing but the truth: that the PM had asked for directions and that someone who worked at the hotel was a regular customer, not the Prime Minister. Everything was fine. Everything was back in order. Except for Clara, who now closed the door behind her, locking them both in his house. Still Malcolm couldn't look.  
He had looked at her earlier when his pulse had been racing and his instinct had been to yell at everything and everyone, then he had looked her in the eyes and something inside his brain had switched off. But, fuck it, it had felt good and a part of him didn't even regret it at all. The woman it had happened with, the place, but not the sex. God knows he had needed to blow off some steam and that had been the best fucking way to do that. Yet not at the office. And not with his intern.  
“Are we going to talk about it?” Clara asked behind him and Malcolm didn't even need to turn around and look at her to know what she was referring to.  
He cleared his throat, dropping his briefcase on the kitchen chair. “I acted on impulse. Just forget about it.”  
“Well,” she said and pushed herself into his field of vision. Had Clara always looked so fucking lovely? “I'm no expert but I'd say having sex at the office is a bad thing and the last thing you need right now is another scandal.”  
Malcolm shot around, glaring at her as best he could and Clara instantly stopped talking under his gaze. So he could still intimidate her, at least a little. “Listen, as lovely as fucking you was, I don't plan on doing it again,” he snapped.  
Clara opened her mouth to say something, but Malcolm cut her off before she even had the chance.  
“So there's really no need to talk about it any further,” he said determinedly.  
She stared at him in disbelief for quite a long moment before she eventually shrugged. “Fine then,” she spat and turned on her heels, storming off in the direction of her room.

When he heard the door being slammed shut Malcolm let out a groan and sank into the sofa cushions. Things with Clara had gone so well, better than he would have thought. They were a dream team when it came to handling the daily party crisis and Malcolm had even started to appreciate her. It was because of that that the sex had happened. He wasn't the type to go around and shag every fuckwit with a pretty face that came along. Usually he chose his partners wisely, even the escorts he occasionally booked. Clara had been a danger he hadn't seen coming, probably because she was young and his intern and therefore off limits until a moment he could no longer restrain himself.  
“Fuck,” he whispered and rubbed his face with his palms. Well, at least he could make sure it never happened again.

* * *

Clara saw very little of Malcolm on Sunday and they spoke only a quick good morning and good night in passing when they met on the stairs but other than that – nothing. She should have seen it coming, but she also knew that it would subside eventually. He had no intention of sleeping with her again and, as much as she had enjoyed their encounter in his office, she wasn't willing to pursue him if he didn't want to be pursued. Clara had too much pride for that.  
When she stepped into the kitchen on Monday morning Malcolm was already sitting at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee.  
“Morning,” she mumbled sleepily as she sank down on her chair.  
“Morning,” he replied and immediately changed his posture, clearing his throat. Clara instantly knew he wanted something. “Listen, could you take my suit to the cleaners for me today?”  
Clara raised an eyebrow. “Can't you do that yourself?”  
“I would, except last time I tried to hand in a suit the lady behind the counter went into hiding. Haven't been able to hand in anything in weeks,” he said casually as he took a bite off his croissant.  
“Did you yell at her at some point?”  
“I yell at everyone,” he retorted, “And I need my best suit tomorrow for this fucking charity event for brain amputees or something. Might be the last chance to clean one of your good dresses, too.”  
“What charity event?” Clara's head instantly shot up. She hadn't brought any of her nice dresses to London with her, just office clothes. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn't even own a dress suitable for this kind of event.  
Malcolm shook his head, seemingly annoyed. “Just some fucking charity party, they're all the same. And you're coming, too. There's no way I'm going to spend an evening with all of those dimwitted eejits on my own.”  
“But I don't have anything to wear,” Clara argued, “All my dresses are back in Blackpool and even those would probably not be suitable for an event like this, especially if you say you're wearing your best suit. I'm going to be an embarrassment.”  
Malcolm raised his head and finally, for the first time since they had had sex in his office, he looked at her properly, obviously contemplating something. Eventually he sighed.  
“Alright,” he said, “Do you know what the proper attire for a charity event with a bunch of knobheaded politicians is?”  
Reluctantly Clara shook her head.  
“Fine,” Malcolm exhaled sharply, “After work I'm taking you shopping. I believe we can file that under job expenses. But in return you will bring my suit to the cleaners and pick it up back.”  
Finally Clara was able to crack a smile. Maybe the remaining two months of her internship wouldn't be as bad as she had assumed they would be after what had happened in his office. They could go back to the way things had been before that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for the sweet comments! I'm so sorry I can't update daily like I used to but I'm doing my best!

As soon as they stepped into the shop Malcolm remembered why it had been a bad idea to come. He should have given Clara his credit card and spared himself the trouble but now that he was inside this world of glitter and satin he didn't see himself leaving it any time soon.   
“Okay,” he said and pointed around the room, “Pick a dress and let's go.”  
Clara turned around and gawked at him in disbelief. “Pick a dress and let's go? Malcolm, two of these cost as much as my entire wardrobe combined!”  
He rolled his eyes at her. “I told you money wasn't an issue. It's more important that you don't embarrass me, so just fucking pick one.”  
“No,” Clara said defensively, “Well, I'll pick one, yes, but that's going to take a moment. At least I'll have to try some of them on.”  
Malcolm took a deep breath. Technically he had brought this on himself, so he couldn't quite complain about it now. “Okay, fine, but try to make it quick, yes?”  
Clara granted him a smile before she rushed off to the first rack filled with dark, glittering dresses. Malcolm watched her examine the clothes for a while before she moved on to the next rack and finally pulled out one of the dresses, holding it up for him.  
“What do you think?” she asked.  
That Clara would look utterly stunning in it, that was what he thought, but Malcolm kept his mouth firmly shut and instead shrugged. “You're asking the wrong person here, sweetheart. I'm not the party's fucking fashion adviser.”  
Clara threw him a dirty glance before she laid the dress over her arm and started carrying it around the shop, selecting some other items as she went along. He had never gone shopping with a woman in his entire life and Malcolm vowed to make this first time the last as well. He was bored after less than five minutes and suddenly felt very grateful that menswear seemed so much simpler to pick out. You could never go wrong with a nice suit, but watching Clara select one dress and immediately discard another he realized that apparently there were a lot of ways you could go wrong with women's clothes.  
Once Clara had retreated into the changing rooms a friendly shop assistant walked by and offered him a cup of tea or coffee while he waited, something that Malcolm declined. He didn't plan on staying as long as it took to finish a cup of tea.  
“How much longer is this going to take?” he asked her impatiently through the closed curtain.  
“Just a moment,” Clara called out to him in response and just a few seconds later the curtain opened. “What do you think?”

When Malcolm thought he had been doing well after his very unexpected one night stand with Clara at his office, he had done well only up until this point. Now he couldn't help but stare. The dress was nothing special whatsoever, in fact, it was pretty plain, but the way the tight fabric clung to her body instantly had his thoughts racing. It was just the sort of dress that was made to be torn off a woman and he was imagining doing that right now, whether he wanted to think about it or not. With her legs so clearly on display he remembered how it had felt to touch them, to part them with his hands, to shove her skirt up. He was just a man, he couldn't help it.  
“You, erm, you should take it,” he suggested, spluttering a little and hoping that Clara wouldn't notice. Quickly he averted his eyes and brought them back to her face. “Looks good on you.”  
Clara chuckled in response. “You just want to get the fuck out of here, am I right?”  
“Right,” Malcolm breathed and smiled. Clara hadn't noticed. She just thought he was eager to leave. “No, let's pay for the thing and head to the cleaners.”  
When Clara closed the curtain again Malcolm took a deep breath. He would survive the charity event somehow. Once was more than enough, Clara was still his intern and this sort of event certainly wasn't the right place for that kind of action.

* * *

In her 28 years Clara was fairly certain that she had come to know men quite a bit and if she had judged Malcolm's look even remotely right he was anything but over their little encounter in his office. The way he had looked at her in the changing room had made her think he was more than ready for a little repeat. And to be fair, so was she, but only if he stopped acting like a complete prick.  
So Clara made an extra effort the next day when she got ready for the charity event, applied a light layer of make up and twisted her hair into a nice up-do before they both headed out in a taxi. Clara hated to admit that he looked very dashing as well in his suit and bow tie and she quickly looked away before he caught her staring. She wanted to be the one to turn his head, not the other way around, but Malcolm seemed determined not to take any notice of her tonight. Well, if that was the case, Clara would just have to find admiration elsewhere as she sure as hell wouldn't beg for his attention.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Ollie Reeder greeted her with a big smile just two minutes after they had arrived at the event, “Still working for Malcolm Fucking Tucker?”  
He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one of them to Clara, who thanked him with a nod and immediately went to take a sip.  
“Yep,” she confirmed, “Still working for him.”  
Ollie Reeder raised his eyebrows at her. “And?” he inquired curiously, “What's it like? Has he shouted at you yet?”  
Clara gave a small shrug as she sipped her drink. “We have our quarrels but overall I can't complain.”  
Once more he smiled at her. “Well, I would like to thank Malcolm for bringing you tonight, but I don't think he would appreciate that. You really brighten up this dull room.”  
“Thank you,” Clara replied sheepishly, staring down at her feet and hoping that Malcolm would take notice of someone else paying her compliments.   
However that hope was soon destroyed when she could hear him shout across the room.   
“Can't you fucking knobheads at DoSAC get anything even remotely right?!” Malcolm yelled at Glenn before he stormed off to the other side of the room, leaving the old man just a tiny bit smaller than he had appeared before.  
“Well, he seems to be in a good mood today,” Ollie said dryly, “Five minutes and he has only shouted once.   
Clara let her gaze wander around the room and soon found Malcolm looking right back at her, only to avert his eyes when she caught him.  
“What's your secret, Clara?”  
She gulped and stared back at Ollie. Oh dear, did he know what had gone on between her and Malcolm? “My secret?”  
“Yeah, how come he doesn't shout at you?”  
Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. Ollie knew nothing. “Oh, erm, well,” she stammered, “I guess he knows I will not hesitate to shout back.”  
“Or pin signs on his back,” he chuckled, “Come on, Clara Oswald, let's get another drink. We're going to need all the alcohol we can get before they start with the speeches.”  
When Ollie Reeder started leading her in the direction of the bar Clara quickly caught another glance from Malcolm and it was as sinister as it could get. She remember the first time he had caught her talking to Ollie and how he had reacted back then and now Clara was quite sure that his reaction was something close to jealousy. Good. He should be jealous and Clara was determined to make him even more so before the evening was over.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments :D Let's see how you like this one ;)

Malcolm watched as Ollie led Clara away in the direction of the bar and for a moment he considered stopping them. That guy was an idiot, but he trusted Clara to figure that out on her own. Instead Malcolm chose to yell at Glenn for bringing him along in the first place.  
Even though he was feeling a little thirsty, walking up to the bar to get a glass of orange juice was currently out of the question if he didn't want to talk to Clara or Ollie – and he really, really didn't. Clara was laughing about something when that twat handed her a glass of champagne as if it was the most hilarious matter she had ever witnessed. Malcolm turned away and headed in the other direction so he wouldn't have to look at them any further, especially not at Clara who was way too pretty tonight.

“Malcolm,” Terri's voice made him turn around. Oh no, not her. Why was there no one that he liked at this event? “About that e-mail yesterday. I just wanted to double check whether you were actually okay with it.”  
Malcolm's face turned into a frown. “E-Mail? What e-mail?”  
“The photoshoot at the school,” Terri went on even though Malcolm still had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. “I'm not sure whether you were being sarcastic in that mail. Are you going to be there or not?”  
He pulled a face, utterly confused by now. “Terri, what e-mail?” he asked angrily, “I haven't the fucking foggiest what you're talking about.”  
Terri's shoulders sank as she rolled her eyes. “I sent you an e-mail, one you replied to by the way, asking whether you would want to pose for the photoshoot at the school along with Nicola. You replied and said yes. I was just wondering whether you were being serious or fucking with me.”  
“Clara,” Malcolm breathed furiously before he turned around and left Terri standing in the middle of the room.  
“Hey,” she called after him, “Was that a yes or no?”  
But Malcolm ignored her. Instead he made his way across the room to where Clara was still laughing about one of Ollie's jokes. It was about time he put an end to that anyway.  
“Malcolm, what-” Clara broke off when he reached for her arm and dragged her into a more quiet corner, “Ow! Let me go.”  
“You agreed to a photoshoot at a school in my name,” he barked at her, his voice hushed but he still managed bring his anger across.  
“Yeah, I did,” Clara replied defensively and tore her arm away from him, “You told me to handle the e-mails yesterday, so I did. I thought it was a good opportunity to show that you and Nicola get along. You've been reading the press lately. You know what they say.”  
Malcolm opened his mouth to protest but he couldn't find anything to say against it. Clara was right. Like she so often was.  
Then he heard her sigh. “Alright, I'm going back to Ollie. He was just telling me a rather funny story.”  
When Malcolm had just been about to calm down, the anger was suddenly ignited once more. He straightened his back and looked down at Clara, at the same time pretending not to see her at all. “Don't let Ollie lure you into drinking. He's made a fool of himself more than just once at events like this,” he told her sternly. Well, technically it had been only once at the party's Christmas event. And he had been far from the only one. Yet Malcolm hated how well Clara seemed to get along with a blithering idiot like him.   
“What?” Clara cocked her eyebrows, “Are you afraid I'm going to get drunk and embarrass you?”  
“I just think it's wiser not to drink at all,” he argued, “There's press here tonight.”  
“And I think I can decide that for myself. Why are you attacking me like this?”

Malcolm was spared an answer when the first speech started and Clara headed off to where everyone else was gathering. He followed her reluctantly, the view of her plunging back suddenly more than just a little distracting as she walked away from him. Why did Clara have to be like that? Why did she have to be smart and spirited and pretty? Why did she have to be so. . . so. . . Malcolm couldn't even find a word for it. Fitting? Yes, they fit together somehow and it was confusing him.  
He positioned himself where Clara couldn't see him but from where he could steal a glance every now and then, only to see her being entertained by that prick Ollie, who looked like he was still attending school. Was that what Clara was into? The idiot school boy? Then why had she had sex with him in his office? Malcolm would probably never know.  
After the speeches were over they moved on into the adjoining hall and this time he had no way to separate Clara from Ollie because unfortunately Clara was seated right between the two of them when they were served dinner.  
“You have a lovely dress,” Terri commented happily.  
“Thank you,” Clara smiled sincerely, “Malcolm bought it for me. I hadn't brought any of my pretty dresses to London with me.”  
Ollie burst into laughter. “You made Malcolm go shopping?” he asked, still laughing, “Man, you really have him pussy-whipped.”  
Malcolm had been angry before, but when Clara had the fucking audacity to laugh at this joke his patience had truly come to an end.  
“Shut your fucking mouth or I will take your glasses and fucking stuff them up your arse,” he shouted at Ollie, “And after I've done that I will fuck you. I will find a spiked mace and fuck you with it until-”  
“I think I've lost my appetite,” Clara announced and dropped her cutlery onto her plate with a loud clatter. She glared at him and it only enraged him more.  
“You have no right, Clara. _You_ encouraged him!”  
“I was just trying to be friendly,” she tried to defend herself but apparently soon realized that it was no good. Clara dropped her napkin on the table and got up from her chair to storm off in the direction of the exit.

Malcolm followed after her, determined not to let her flee the building like she had just fled the table. If the press saw it their spat would be all over the newspapers by morning. He caught up with her in the room containing their coats and jackets.  
“What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Clara barked at him as soon as they had both realized they were alone. “You were perfectly nice until we came here. Then you lecture me about your mails and drinking and then you attack Ollie because he made a joke!”  
“I hate him,” Malcolm grumbled, “Apart from Nicola he is the worst thing that could have happened to this party. He is vile and immature and-”  
He broke off when once again it dawned on him that they were alone in this room. Just him and Clara. No one else that could see or hear them. Without thinking about it further Malcolm stepped forward and bent down to crash their lips together for a kiss.   
He had been so sure Clara would push him away but she didn't. Instead she opened her mouth and let him in, kissing him back so eagerly that soon they tumbled backwards until they hit a wall. Clara hooked her arms around his neck and buried her hand in his hair, pulling roughly until he moaned into her mouth. Malcolm pressed her harder against the wall with the weight of his body, grinding his hips against hers and he could feel his cock twitch at the thought of peeling Clara out of this dress. Would she really let him?   
He hissed when Clara bit down on his bottom lip but it felt so good. He wanted to take her right then and there, make it rough and quick before anyone could catch them but then suddenly Clara's mouth was gone from his. _Her mouth._ How would that mouth feel around his cock? He was dying to find out.  
“Malcolm,” Clara's voice tore him from his thoughts and he opened his eyes to look at her just when she gently pushed him away from her. “You said this wouldn't happen again.”  
Oh. Yes. He had said that. Why had he said that? Right now Malcolm would give about anything to do it again.  
He brought his hands to her hips and guided them so Clara could feel his growing erection against her belly as he bent down to her ear. “I don't care,” he whispered hoarsely, “I want to fuck you.”  
“No,” Clara told him with a kind smile, pushing him away once more. “We can't afford a scandal.”  
And with that Clara reached for her coat and headed out of the room, leaving him aroused and utterly confused.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using the weekend to catch up on my writing! I'm glad you liked the last chapter and thank you so much for the comments :)

Malcolm felt edgy on the ride back home, especially because Clara was sitting right next to him, never saying a single word. Even though she had been right to stop him Malcolm couldn't stop thinking about how this fucking woman had managed to turn his head and it certainly didn't help that her dress kept slipping up, exposing most of her leg. He had half a mind to yell at her to cover herself up. His arousal had abated and yet his head remained clouded by her, by the thought of kissing her, touching her. Malcolm turned his head to look at her and found that Clara had her eyes fixed on the road ahead.  
“Is something wrong?” she asked him once she had noticed him staring.  
Malcolm quickly averted his gaze. “No. Nothing.”

The rest of the ride went by quietly and Malcolm felt a certain kind of relief when the taxi stopped in front of his house and they could walk inside, bringing a little more distance between him and Clara even though it was still quite the opposite of what he truly wanted. He couldn't wait to go to bed and leave this awful day behind, his feet feeling heavy when he started walking upstairs.  
“Hey, where do you think you're going?” he heard Clara's voice behind him and turned around to see that she was still standing at the bottom of the steps, looking at him expectantly.  
He shrugged in reply. “To bed.”  
Clara put her arms akimbo, glaring up at him. “I thought we were finally going to talk about it,” she said and sounded just a little bit angry, “You can't have sex with me, then tell me it's never gonna happen again only to kiss me in the middle of a charity event just a few days later.”  
Malcolm sighed. “You're right, I shouldn't have kissed you, I-”  
“No,” Clara interrupted him sternly.  
“No?” he looked at her quizzically, his eyebrows raised. Fucking women. He would probably never understand them.  
“You _can_ kiss me, you just can't do it in public. And you can't do it and back out again. If we're going to do it again, I need to know what it means and I won't be discarded five minutes after,” Clara said determinedly, looking up at him.  
All Malcolm had heard was _“if we're going to do it again”_. Fuck, he wanted that. He shouldn't want it, but he did.  
“Well?” she cocked her eyebrows at him expectantly.  
Malcolm walked back downstairs until he was face to face with Clara when he stopped, staring at her. “I want it,” he told her plainly and rested his hands on her hips. Clara dropped her arms and let him pull her closer. “Fuck it! Let's keep it behind closed doors, within these walls. Just you and me, Clara, please. I want it.”  
When their hips met Malcolm felt his cock twitch and swell in excitement and he instantly bent down to kiss Clara, her lips soft and the taste of champagne still lingering on them. However this time she didn't open up to him. Malcolm groaned in frustration as she pulled away once more.  
“Malcolm, I need to know that it won't be like last time,” Clara reminded him harshly, “I need to know that you won't immediately push me away.”  
“Clara,” Malcolm groaned as he pressed her body harder against his own, “I promise I will treat you like a queen if that's what it takes. But, please, let me fuck you.”

Finally Clara gave way under him and when he crashed their lips together in a passionate kiss they both stumbled backwards against the wall. He wanted to drown in her kisses, drown inside her. He was so fucking hard by now that he didn't even care about going upstairs first, he just wanted to feel her around him as quickly as humanly possible.  
Clara moaned under him when his lips left hers and he began to trail her neck with kisses, probably leaving lovebites all over her skin on his way down to her breasts.  
“God, I've been wanting to tear that dress off you all night,” he mumbled against her chest and with his finger Malcolm shoved the strap out of the way to expose her breast. While his mouth sucked hard on her nipple, causing Clara to gasp, his hand made its way between her legs where he found no underwear.  
“Fuck you,” he cursed when his finger slipped between her wet folds. Clara chuckled. “ _Fuck you!_ You fucking planned this.”  
“I was hoping, not planning,” she keened as he entered her and instantly Clara tightened her muscles around his fingers to feel more of him.  
He planted another, bruising kiss on her lips and felt her leg wrap around him to pull him closer. The fabric of his trousers was beginning to feel a little tight and he was sure that by now it was already stained with precum.  
Luckily for him Clara seemed to have had the same notion as her hands dropped to his crotch and palmed him through his trousers.  
“Open the fucking trousers,” he hissed sharply against her lips and in a matter of seconds Clara had freed him from the unnecessary fabric that was now pooling around his legs. He moaned into her mouth when she tucked hard on his erection, her touch sending sparks flying through his body. Malcolm knew he wouldn't stand a lot of teasing, so in one swift movement he lifted Clara up.  
She hooked her legs and arms around him for support and finally Clara let him enter. Malcolm had wanted to be gentle at first, he really had, but when he felt himself slip into her tight wetness he simply couldn't hold back and the sounds that Clara made told him she didn't mind him being rough at all. Instead she tightened her muscles around him, causing him to moan loudly.  
“Fuck, Clara, you're so-,” Malcolm broke off when he plunged back inside her, picking up pace.  
“Don't talk, just fuck me,” she reminded him breathlessly and pulled him closer with her legs.  
The feeling of her around him was so overwhelming and he had been eager and ready for her almost the entire evening. Her moans seemed to resonate straight inside his core, making him go harder and faster as he slammed her against the wall. Clara pulled at his hair so he would kiss her again, even though most of the time he missed her lips in his frenzy, and Malcolm held on tight to her hips, guiding her to meet his thrusts.  
Clara was panting when their lips pulled apart and for a moment Malcolm opened his eyes to look at her and, fuck, the sight of her had almost propelled him over the edge right then and there. Her face was flushed in arousal, sweaty, her hair the mess that he had made of it and Clara had her lips parted, moaning his name when his thrusts became a little more shallow for a moment.  
Malcolm brought his hand between them, trying to push back his own orgasm by concentrating on her when he rubbed his thumb along her clit, all the while pushing back inside of her.  
“Yes,” she gasped, furrowing her brows in her arousal, “Right there. Please.”  
He pushed harder against her and suddenly felt her walls flutter and pulse around his cock as she came, taking him in deeper than before and Malcolm let himself get dragged along, burying himself inside of her until he could feel his orgasm crash over him like a wave and he released himself inside of her.  
“Fuck,” he muttered breathlessly, letting his head sink into the crook of her neck. He swallowed hard and waited for his pulse to return to normal and only when his arousal had abated Malcolm pulled out of her and carefully set Clara back down. “Clara, that was fucking amazing.”  
“Or amazing fucking,” she giggled and gave a squeal of surprise when he bent down to kiss her again.  
Their kiss didn't last long however as they both came back up soon enough, gasping for air. Malcolm couldn't help but smile at her and to his relief Clara smiled back.  
“Tell me, is that mouth for yours good for other dirty things besides swearing?” she asked teasingly.  
“I can show you how good,” Malcolm looked down at her and suddenly he had an idea, “Clara, do you want to sleep in my bedroom tonight?”  
“Very much,” she grinned at him and before Clara could even react Malcolm picked his trousers off the floor and reached for her hand, pulling her in the direction of the bedroom. Maybe he would regret this soon, but right now Malcolm didn't even care. All he wanted at this moment was to be with Clara.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic so much!

When Clara woke up she felt surprisingly well rested for the amount of workout she had gotten the previous night. The sun tickled her nose and she could feel Malcolm tighten his arm around her in his embrace, hugging her closely from behind. They were still naked and she wouldn't have thought how much she actually enjoyed feeling his skin on her own.  
“I can't believe I'm really fucking my intern,” Malcolm mumbled sleepily, planting a couple of sloppy kisses on the skin of her neck.  
Clara giggled in reply, tickled by caresses. “Can't believe I'm fucking my boss,” she responded to his kisses by pressing her arse against his crotch and if she wasn't too much mistaken Clara could feel his erection rub against her cheeks.  
Malcolm moaned softly. “Then we should repeat until we believe it.”  
Clara was about to agree to his suggestion, however when she opened her eyes all the cosiness suddenly vanished when her gaze fell on the alarm clock on his bedside table.  
“ _Shit!_ ” Clara cursed and sat up instantly.  
“Hey, what-”  
“It's half past nine!” Clara turned around to yell at him and immediately saw the look of shock on his face when the realisation was beginning to dawn on him. They had overslept by one and a half hour.  
“Fuck!” Malcolm yelled and jumped out of bed, looking down at himself, “Fuck! I'm fucking sweaty and hungry and. . . _fuck!”_  
“No time for a shower,” Clara determined quickly, “We'll eat on the way and I'm just going to have a quick wash.”  
Suddenly his hands were around her waist, his stomach and crotch pressed flat to her back, keeping her from going anywhere. “We could shower together. Saves time. And water.”  
“No,” Clara replied determinedly and turned around to see the look on his face. “No time for your morning wood. Get dressed!”  
Malcolm glared at her. “I thought I was the boss,” he growled in reply.  
“Not in the bedroom,” she patted him on the cheek before turning around and heading in the direction of the bathroom.   
A look in the mirror confirmed the nasty suspicion she had already had last night. A large lovebite was covering her neck and Clara would have a hard time concealing that one with make up. When all her attempts at covering it up failed miserably Clara decided to simply wear a polo neck jumper. Less than 15 minutes later they both stepped outside where their car was already waiting.

* * *

Clara groaned as she sat down inside the car next to him and Malcolm threw her a worried look.  
“Everything alright?” he asked her.  
“Yeah,” Clara glanced at the driver before looking straight at him, winking, “Must have bruised my back a little last night.”  
He couldn't help the hint of a proud smirk that crossed over his face when he looked at Clara. She was younger, beautiful, classy. She was smart and witty, the perfect kind of woman and she was sleeping with him. Hadn't she been his intern he could have showed her off at last night's charity event or any other opportunity and every man in the room would have been jealous, every man in the room would have wanted to trade places with him if only because of Clara. But she was his intern and their liaison had to remain a secret. The press would have a field day if any of it came to light.  
“Is something wrong?” Clara suddenly tore him from his thoughts, “You look a little glum.”  
“It's nothing,” Malcolm shook his head, but the thought wouldn't leave him. She wouldn't be his intern forever – but once she was no longer his intern, she would be off, back to Blackpool. “Just not really keen on this photo shoot. That's all.”

Nicola and her team were already waiting in front of the school and they were impatient by the looks of it. While Clara drove off in their car to get them both coffee and some breakfast Malcolm went to greet the others.  
“You're late,” Nicola remarked, not without looking utterly smug.  
“What the fuck are you on about?” Malcolm asked her, knowing that there was more to follow. Maybe a lecture, maybe something else. She seemed too fucking pleased about the fact.  
“Oh, nothing,” she smiled at the photographer that was beginning to have them pose in front of the school doors, “Just what I heard about last night.”  
He snorted. “What about that?”  
Nicola gave a small shrug. “Just that Ollie says you're having an affair with your new intern and that you went into a jealous rage yesterday.”  
 _That little cunt!_ Malcolm glanced over to where Ollie was standing, typing something into his phone. Oh, he'd have a little chat with him later, that was for certain.  
“You're not even denying it,” Nicola noted.  
“Why the fuck would I?” Malcolm replied, “Do you really think that if it was true I would share that piece of information with Ollie? Oh, come on. You're not as daft as you look, Nicola.”  
Malcolm put on a smile for the camera, even though he didn't particularly feel like smiling at all. If those rumours got out, they could cause trouble for him and for Clara. He needed to shut Ollie up before it was too late.

While Nicola was already heading into one of the classrooms to talk in front of their political science class Malcolm finally had the chance. Before Ollie could disappear through the classroom door as well Malcolm grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him into the nearest restroom.  
“Malcolm, what's the matter with-”  
“How dare you spread rumours about me like that?!” he yelled at him and to his delight Ollie flinched at the sharpness of his voice, “How fucking dare you?!”  
He laughed. “Malcolm, you need to chill. So what if you're fucking her, I even envy you a li-”  
“I am not fucking my intern,” Malcolm raised his index finger to Ollie's face, “And I'm warning you. If I hear another fucking word about that I will find a spiked mace, trust me!”  
Ollie sneered at him. “If it's not true then why are making a scene right now?”  
“Because if the press picks up on this rumour they will use it! The opposition will use it! Have you considered _that_?”  
Suddenly the idiot gulped and Malcolm realized that he hadn't thought about it for a second. And now he was finally beginning to realize the trouble he could have caused by spreading rumours, whether they were true or not. But Malcolm would hardly admit that in front of Ollie.  
“I'm glad we've come to an agreement,” Malcolm hissed and turned around on his heels, storming out of the bathroom when suddenly the phone in his pocket rang. The Prime Minister. That could only mean one thing: more bad news.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments!!!

Malcolm listened intently to what Tom was telling him. A conference in America. He could escape this madness here for an entire week and a part of him wanted to pack his bags immediately and board the first plane available. He would finally be among adults.  
"That sounds great actually," Malcolm replied, "Who else is coming? Not that idiot cunt Ollie Reeder, I hope?"  
"No one," the Prime Minister said instantly, "It's an entirely confidential meeting. Just you and I are going."  
"But I can bring my intern, right? I know Clara would really profit from a chance like this," he said hopefully.  
Tom laughed. "I'm glad you and your intern get alone. To be quite honest, I had my doubts at the beginning, but I'm afraid she will have to stay here. Give her the week off. I'm sure she will enjoy taking a little break from politics."  
Malcolm's heart sank. A week without Clara. Fuck, he'd miss her. It had only been hours since they had last kissed and he was already missing the taste of her lips. An entire week would be torture.  
"That's a shame, she would have been of more help than any of the other idiots you employ." He hesitated and thought that maybe it was time to ask the Prime Minister the question that had been on his mind for quite some time now. Ever since Clara had really started working for him.  
"Listen, Tom, about Clara," Malcolm paused.  
"What about her?"  
He took a deep breath, thinking of a good way to phrase what he was about to ask the Prime Minister. If he said one false word he could just fuel Ollie's rumours further.  
"You know I was really fucking against the idea of her being my intern, but I've changed my mind. Clara has proven herself more than useful to me and I hope that, given we win the next election, there's a job for her somewhere."  
He heard Tom laugh on the other end of the line. "Oh, I'm sure of that. She could be your personal assistant. How about that?"  
"Tom, I have a personal assistant already. But she could be _yours_ ," Malcolm suggested hopefully. Clara would excel at it, Malcolm was sure of that, and above all she would be in London. Close to him.  
There was a silence at the other end of the phone, but Malcolm was determined to wait for his answer.  
"I am sure there is a job for her somewhere, yes. How long until she finishes her degree?"  
"About six months," he explained.  
"And she really is that good?" Tom asked as if he was still in doubt.  
"Tom, are you doubting me? I'm telling you, the girl fucking knows what she's doing - unlike some other people I don't want to name. She's got a knack for words and is excellent in a crisis."  
"If she does her job so well, then why don't you fire Sam and keep her?"  
_Because I can't employ her and fuck her at the same time_ , Malcolm thought. "It just wouldn't be right," he said instead and finally it seemed to have convinced the Prime Minister.  
"Fine," he agreed, "We will find something for her. After all, I do hate writing my speeches."  
"Pleased to hear that," Malcolm said and after exchanging a few more details about America Malcolm ended the phone call.  
He had found Clara a job, if she wanted it, and he would be going to America for a week. However the fact that he wouldn't be able to take Clara kind of dampened his joy about it..

* * *

Clara could feel that something was up, or maybe it was really just the awkwardness of the recent developments between them, but Malcolm was acting differently and when they finally left their work day behind and stepped through the door inside his house, she simply couldn't take it any longer.  
"Okay," she said determinedly, putting her arms akimbo, "Out with it! What's bothering you?"  
"I'm flying to America tomorrow," Malcolm admitted, dropping his briefcase on the table before he looked at her. If Clara wasn't too much mistaken she would have thought he looked apologetic.  
"So?" Clara frowned at him, "Isn't that good or at least exciting?"  
"It would be," Malcolm stepped forward and placed his hands around her waist, "If I could take you with me. Unfortunately, I can't."  
Malcolm pressed his hips against hers and Clara noticed that how eager he seemed to take their clothes off once more. And she had to admit: spending the whole day with him at the office without being able to touch him had made her very much determined to drag him back into the bedroom as soon as they were home.  
"Oh," she uttered, looking up at him, "Well, won't be for too long, will it?"  
"I will be a week," he admitted, "But you can go home in the meantime. Take the time off while I'm away, see your family."  
She chuckled. "Wow, that's really considerate of you."  
Malcolm shrugged. "It was the Prime Minister's idea."  
Clara leaned forward and nudged him gently before getting a surprise when Malcolm bent down and placed a kiss on her lips.  
“I'm serious,” Malcolm insisted when they parted lips again, “Go home. There's nothing to do here for you while I'm away.”  
Clara pursed her lips at him. “Well, I _could_ help out at DoSAC?” she suggested.  
Suddenly Malcolm's arms were gone from her waist and he took a step back, glaring at her. “What? So Ollie Reeder can stare at your tits all day? Nope, out of the fucking question. They're mine to stare at.”  
She laughed at him in earnest now. “I was joking, you know? Gosh, you're adorable when you're jealous.”

Before Clara knew what was happening Malcolm had picked her up in his arms and set her down on the table next to them before crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss that robbed Clara of her breath. She moaned into his mouth when his hips rubbed against her crotch before he pulled away.  
“Don't tease me,” he said in a playfully threatening manner.  
Clara smiled at him in reply. “Wouldn't dream of it,” she said with a smirk, “So, what do you say? Quick dinner and then bedroom?”  
Malcolm pecked her on the lips. “Very quick dinner.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, thank you so much for the sweet comments, guys :)

Clara's phone buzzed while she was sitting at the dinner table, having a last meal with her father, grandmother and Linda before heading back to London the next morning and she reached out and glanced at it before swiftly locking the screen again. The text she had just received was nothing for her family's eyes.  
“So, did you find a man in London?” Linda asked her with an undertone to her voice that Clara truly disliked while stuffing mashed potatoes into her mouth, “You've been single for quite a long time now.”  
“Linda,” her father threw in, “I doubt Clara has time for men while she's working for the government.”  
They both looked at her but it was her grandmother's gaze that she caught and it only took her a second to realize that Clara had indeed found someone. However her grandmother was kind enough not to share that realisation with everyone else at the table. They would talk about it later when nobody else was listening in like they always did.  
“Did they say something about keeping you after you've finished your degree?” her father asked her after a moment, “I mean, you said your boss was pretty pleased with your work.”  
“Dad,” Clara rolled her eyes. As much as she would like to work for the government one day a part of her doubted that Malcolm would still employ her after they had started sleeping together. It just wouldn't be right. It wasn't something he would do. If their affair or relationship or whatever they had came to light the press would go mad over the fact. “It's way too early to talk about such things. My internship isn't even over.”  
“Never too early to ask,” her father shrugged but soon his attention wandered back to the food on his plate.

After dinner Clara retreated to her room where her packed suitcase was already waiting for her. Tomorrow morning she would take the train back to London and if she was quite honest, as lovely as a week off had been, she was already looking forward to it very much. Especially since it involved seeing Malcolm again. They had exchanged text messages all week, innocent ones at first but as time progressed his texts had gotten increasingly naughty and explicit. Clara didn't need a lot of imagination to know what he would do once they were alone in a room again and the thought about it already made her entire body tingle with excitement. Malcolm was so different from the men she had been with so far, a lot more mature, which meant he knew exactly where to kiss her and how to touch her to get her off. He was rough in the heat of the moment, but Clara didn't mind at all. They just clicked somehow, in and outside of the bedroom.  
Clara drew the phone out of her pocket and looked at the text.

Malcolm:  
 _Can't wait to see you again tomorrow evening. I'm growing fucking impatient here on my own, surrounded by all those wankers with their peanut sized brains._

Clara giggled as she typed back.

Clara:  
 _I thought you'd have some intelligent conversations?_

Malcolm's reply came swiftly.

Malcolm:  
 _I wish. This whole trip could've lasted a day and it still would have been a fucking waste of time. Time I could better spend undressing you. Don't wear something too expensive when I come home tomorrow because I will fucking rip it off you._

She smiled at the phone and the thought about what was going to happen tomorrow evening. Maybe this time they would be smart and go to the bedroom first, but Clara almost doubted Malcolm could wait that long. She continued to type.

Clara:  
 _Or I could wait for you already naked?_

Malcolm:  
 _Don't put thoughts into my head, sweetheart, or I might just bribe the pilot to take off sooner._

Clara:  
 _Well, you'll need a little more patience because I'm going to bed. Train leaves at 8. Can't wait to see you again._

When Clara sank into her pillows she felt as though butterflies were dancing around inside her stomach. Even though Malcolm had made the worst possible first impression on her she had come to admire him over the course of her internship and the feeling had been mutual. Now it seemed as if they were both adding some new emotions to the pile and although Clara would have never thought she could fancy someone as rude and ruthless as Malcolm, she found herself falling for him just a little. Because behind closed doors he could be quite sweet and attentive.

* * *

The lock clicked and Clara immediately jumped up to greet Malcolm at the door. He instantly dropped his suitcase and jacket to the floor before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer for a passionate kiss that Clara thought would never end. She opened here mouth to him and his tongue plunged hungrily inside of her, reminding her of what exactly she had missed during the last week. Malcolm tasted of coffee and the smell of his aftershave was starting to cloud her mind when she dropped her hands to his belt. God, she wanted nothing more than to give him a proper welcome, but he suddenly pulled away, groaning.  
“Fuck, Clara, I need you,” he hissed when she hooked her finger into his belt to pull him closer.  
Clara smiled mischievously. “Then what are you waiting for?”  
Malcolm let out a long and heavy sigh. “We've been invited to join the fucking Prime Cunt at the Opera tonight. In an hour.”  
“What?” she was sure that the disappointment showed in her voice as the news were starting to sink in.   
Malcolm reached out to take her hand and led it to rest on his crotch where Clara could feel he was hard under her palm. “See,” he half moaned, rubbing against her hand, “This is how much I don't want to go to the opera right now. I've seen his ugly face for an entire week.”  
He bent down to place a swift kiss to her lips. “I'd much rather look at your face while my cock is in your mouth.”  
Clara pouted at him. She wasn't much of a fan of the opera anyway, but knowing that instead of going she could have had an evening with Malcolm it suddenly made her like it even less. “Well, I guess we'll still have time afterwards.”  
“Too long,” he complained, his hips still grinding against her, working himself up even more. “I want you. Now. And afterwards I'm going to fucking kill Tom before going back to bed with you.”  
“He's the Prime Minister,” Clara said piteously and pulled her hand away before Malcolm found it too hard to stop.  
“And there's three things you have that he doesn't,” he replied, pulling her back against his body. Clara felt the tingling sensation shoot through her entire body. How lovely it would be if they could just be left alone for the rest of the evening. “Brains, a pretty face and a delicious cunt.”  
He kissed her again but Clara gently pushed him away. “Malcolm, if we need to be at the opera in an hour we have to get dressed now,” she reminded him.  
Again he groaned. “Yes, yes,” Malcolm hissed in reply, “But don't wear the dress I bought you or I might not be able to keep my hands to myself.”  
Clara giggled and shrugged. “It's the only pretty one I have, so you'll have to find a way to restrain yourself,” she said before she turned around and headed towards the bathroom.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments!!!

It was torture. Pure, plain, simple torture. He wasn't so very fond of the opera as it was but sitting next to Clara, who was looking absolutely gorgeous, when he would much rather sit at home with her on his lap, it made him loathe _Carmen_ with a fuming passion. For once Malcolm had a woman in his life, one he hadn't seen in a week and now that idiotic Prime Minister had even ruined their night of reunion. And to make it even worse – he had also invited Ollie, Nicola and her husband along. The only thing Malcolm felt even remotely good about was the fact that Ollie had come on his own without the company of a woman. Too bad he couldn't show that school boy prick that Clara was his and his alone because Malcolm surely didn't miss the glances Ollie was throwing in Clara's direction.   
However it was dark inside the theatre and it gave Malcolm an idea. During the second act he dropped his hand to Clara's thigh and squeezed softly. If she gave him a reaction Malcolm didn't notice it in the darkness and so he continued to caress her leg. The fabric was so soft and thin under his palm and he could feel the heat of her body on his skin. It was a shame he couldn't feel her skin or drop his hand between her legs. Or could he? Ollie was sitting next to Clara. What if he noticed? Then again, the idiot was blind as a mole even with his glasses and he was probably paying more attention to _Carmen_ than the woman next to him.   
Malcolm started to gather up her skirt and before he knew it he could feel her skin under his fingertips. It was just like he remembered it – soft, warm and so very sensitive to his touch. Clara shifted in her seat as he traced the inside of her thigh with his fingers and he thought he heard her chuckle. Oh, she was deliciously ticklish down there and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between her thighs. Just the thought about the sounds she had made last time caused his cock to twitch in his pants. Damn the opera. Damn the Prime Minister. Right now he just wanted Clara.  
Suddenly her hand was on top of his own, pushing it down just a little. He had barely noticed that his fingertips had already reached the lace of her underwear. Clara threw him a glance but he couldn't make out the expression of her face in this darkness. Then the curtained closed and the lights were beginning to blind him. Right. The interval.

As the people were heading outside, crowding the foyer in search for a glass of champagne or a snack Malcolm briefly lost sight of the others, except Clara who had remained right by his side.  
“Where did they go?” she asked but Malcolm didn't care. This was his chance, his moment.  
He reached for her hand and pulled her through the crowd. At first he thought Clara would protest or at least ask where he was taking her but she never did and Malcolm didn't stop until he had spotted the exact door he had been looking for. He knew the storage room well, just a few years ago he had given some idiot from the party a good bollocking in there. Now he was going to connect a new memory with this particular room and this time it would be a lot more pleasant than the matter of leaked statistics.   
“Malcolm, we-”  
As soon as the door closed behind them Malcolm crashed their lips together, not even letting Clara finish her sentence cause he knew that she would try to reason with him and that was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to feel her, be close to her, kiss her until he ran out of breath because all of it felt so insanely good right now.   
“We really shouldn't,” Clara argued, gasping for breath when their lips parted.   
Malcolm swallowed hard. There were so many things on his mind and they all revolved around Clara somehow. Maybe he should just say them, make her understand why he was so impatient, why he couldn't get enough of her.  
“Clara,” he breathed, holding her close to him, “I haven't met a woman like you in a very long time. Most people I meet are just plain, fucking dumb or nuts or both. The women I've fucked were all dumb and most of them paid for. You-”  
Malcolm broke off, not knowing how to say it. It was fucking early to say he loved her but he knew that was were this thing would lead if they just continued like that. He wanted her in his life – at work, at home, in the bedroom. For once he had found someone he could imagine sharing it all with.   
Luckily for him he didn't even have to find the right words as Clara grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down for another kiss. Smart lass. She knew what was going on inside his mind without Malcolm having to say it out loud. Unfortunately she pulled away too soon.  
“If I do this you will be quiet and you will behave when we go back to our seats later,” Clara said, a tone of warning in her voice.  
Malcolm simply nodded because there wasn't a term he wouldn't have agreed to at this moment when she sank down on her knees in front of him. Fuck, she'd do it. She'd actually do it. His heart skipped a beat in excitement as her fingers undid his belt and trouser buttons and even the lightest touch of her seemed to burn on his skin. He was half hard already, had been ever since his hand had felt the lace of her knickers. They had no time to lose as the interval wouldn't last forever, and luckily for them both, in his state neither would he.   
Malcolm gave a sharp hiss when she sucked him into her mouth, so hot and wet around him that he thought he'd come within a minute.   
“I'll pay you back when we get home,” he groaned, dropping his hands to her head and guiding her lips around him, “I'll pay you back so fucking good that you'll be limping tomorrow.”  
He leaned back against the wall when Clara tightened her lips around him in response. He wanted so much to moan out loud, to give her orders but he was afraid that someone might hear them. Quiet had never been his style but Malcolm was trying his best as he felt himself grow harder inside of her. He noticed every movement, every change in pressure, every swirl of her tongue around him as he began to thrust into her mouth, testing to see how much Clara could take and she never protested. Damn, Clara must truly be heaven sent. She was everything he could ever want in a woman.  
“Clara,” Malcolm couldn't help but moan her name when she took in all of him, the pressure around his cock so tight that he thought he would go insane with lust if he didn't come soon. He dug his fingers deeper into her scalp to make her go faster. He was so close now that he thought he'd come any second.  
“Yes,” he hissed as she tightened her lips around him even further, “Like that. Fuck!”  
Malcolm thrust inside once, twice before he couldn't hold back any longer. The sensation was too much for him to take and he came inside her mouth with her name on his lips. At the moment of climax he thought that he might marry her one day because he would be fucking stupid to let a woman like her go, but luckily he had enough of his sanity left not to say it as she swallowed around him and licked him clean before tucking him neatly back into his pants.   
However before Clara could straighten his trousers as well Malcolm pulled her up to his level and planted a short, sloppy his on her lips right as the door to the storage room flung open.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! And I'm sorry. You know I love my cliffhangers :D

“I thought that was you moaning, Malcolm,” Ollie giggled while Malcolm reached for his trousers, too late to cover up the situation. They had been caught by the worst fucking person on the entire planet.  
“Close the door,” he bellowed, “Close the fucking door!”  
Luckily for him Ollie did as he was told and Malcolm used the moment to fasten his belt before he launched at Ollie, shoving him against the wall and holding him by the throat with his arm.  
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone,” he hissed, “I will end you. And that is not an empty threat. I will fucking skin you alive with a spoon while everyone you love is watching.”  
“Malcolm,” Clara's voice came from behind but he ignored her.  
“Keep your fucking mouth shut or I-”  
“Malcolm!”  
Now Clara's hand was on his shoulder, softly pulling him away from Ollie who was instantly gasping for air. He glared down at her but found that Clara was immune to his gaze.  
“Violence won't help you here,” she warned him before turning towards the nosy prick, “Ollie, please, forget what you saw. Don't tell anyone, please. You wouldn't just get Malcolm in trouble but the entire party.”  
He had no idea what Ollie was going to do next, but he certainly hadn't expected him to start laughing.   
“I won't tell a soul. _But_ ,” he paused, sneering straight at Malcolm, “I won't forget. This image has been seared into my memory. It's there forever. And tonight when I go home I will hang my head over the toilet because of how disgusting that image is.”  
Malcolm still glared at him, waiting for him to finish. He was going to fucking kill Ollie at some point very soon.  
“I will remember this forever, Malcolm, and so will you because now you owe me.”  
He scoffed. “I would rather cut your cock in tiny pieces with a chainsaw than owe you anything,” he replied.  
Ollie simply shrugged. “Banging your intern, Malc,” he shook his head, “No, I'm afraid that's a pretty nasty secret to keep.”  
“Please, Ollie, be reasonable,” Clara begged him and Malcolm had almost shouted at her to shut up. That was his problem and he could deal with Ollie on his own.  
Ollie raised his hands in a surrendering gesture as he stepped backwards in the direction of the door. “I'm just saying that if I ever need a favour I hope you remember this moment. Because I certainly will,” he reached for the door handle, “And you better hurry up. Interval should be over soon.”

When the door closed behind Ollie, leaving Malcolm and Clara alone again, he kicked the wall with his foot in his rage.  
“Fucking hell!” he cursed, “Of all the people it had to be that prick! Fuck!”  
“Malcolm,” Clara said gently, placing her hand on his arm, “It's no use. Let it go for now. Ollie will gloat, probably for a long time, but he's going to forget about it eventually.”  
“Oh, you don't know Ollie.”  
“Doesn't change the fact that he's probably right. Interval must be over soon. We should get back to our seats,” she explained softly and unfortunately Malcolm had to agree. Even though the last thing he wanted right now was to listen to the fucking Opera for endless hours, they had to go back inside.

* * *

Clara felt terrible over what had happened and even though she knew in her heart that Malcolm and sheer bad luck were as much to blame for what had happened, she just couldn't help but feel guilty. If she had stopped Malcolm, if he had refused him, none of it would have happened. Clara knew that Ollie wouldn't say a thing because even though he was a prick, he was not stupid. He wouldn't put the entire party at risk just out of spite.  
When they arrived at Malcolm's house her good mood and happiness about seeing Malcolm again had vanished entirely and she could tell that he felt the same thing.  
“I'm sorry,” she apologized quietly as she took off her coat and left it on the rack, “I feel as if this is all my fault.”  
“It's not,” Malcolm told her, sighing. “It's really not. You tried to reason with me but I wouldn't listen.”  
Clara nodded slowly and looked up at him. He seemed so tired and troubled that she wished there was a way she could make him forget about what had happened with Ollie. “What do we do now?” she asked him.  
Malcolm shrugged. “We go to bed,” he concluded.   
Again she nodded in reply.  
“Come here,” he said and spread his arms. At first Clara was unsure what it meant but as she stepped forward Malcolm closed his arms around her in a hug and in response she tightened her grip around his back as well. It felt strange somehow, foreign, but in a really good way. So far their physical contact had been limited to sex, but a hug was really, really nice as well and probably what they both needed the most at the moment. When they were interacting with the rest of the party Malcolm acted like an angry, Scottish robot, that was why Clara often forgot that in privacy he was all the more human and that was when she loved him the most. Malcolm bent down and kissed her softly on the lips.   
“Let's go to sleep, okay?”  
“Yeah,” she breathed in reply.

When Clara woke up the next morning and felt the weight of Malcolm's arm around her she wanted so much to enjoy this moment of just lying next to him, but the memories of last night came back immediately. Something had to change, Clara knew that. If Ollie could catch them, so could someone else and that mustn't happen. She just couldn't say what. Maybe he would fire her as his intern, something Clara really didn't want. Or maybe they would stop sleeping together, but that was what she wanted even less.  
Carefully Clara slipped out of Malcolm's embrace while he was still fast asleep and decided to leave him to his dreams for a while longer. He was probably still so exhausted after America and the eventful evening that he could do with a few more minutes while she prepared their breakfast.  
Clara made an extra effort to set the table. Fresh coffee, tea, boiled eggs and she already stuck two slices into the toaster before she took a deep breath. Something had to change and the thought about that made Clara realize something: She wanted to stay with Malcolm. And she wanted to work for the government. How on earth could she ever have both?  
Clara stepped outside to retrieve the newspaper and unfolded it on her way back when suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the headline. The words were plain and simple and meant one thing. They were utterly screwed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorty, but heeeeey. . . how about a cliffhanger? :D

Malcolm needed a moment to realize what was happening when he woke up. Clara was shaking him furiously, a look of worry on her face while she waved the newspaper in front of his face. Something was wrong, but his mind was still too clouded with sleep to realize what it was.  
“Malcolm, wake up,” she urged him, “We're in trouble. _Big trouble._ ”  
“What?” he groaned, only slowly opening his eyes as he sat up in bed. Why was she so fucking agitated so early in the morning?  
“We're in the newspaper, Malcolm. _They know._ ”  
“ _What?!_ ”  
He tore the newspaper out of her hand and held it at arm's length to read what she was talking about when he saw the headline.  
“That knobheaded cunt!” Malcolm cursed instantly as he skimmed through the article. That fucking arsehole Ollie Reeder had sold him to the press, there was no doubt about that because Malcolm couldn't think of any sane reason why the press would know what exactly had been going on between _media adviser Malcolm Tucker and his young intern_ in that cupboard last night. It had to be Ollie's fault.  
“What do we do, Malcolm?” Clara asked with panic in her voice, looking at him with her insanely large eyes, “What do we do now?”

Slowly he rose from his bed and looked around the room, not finding any answers there. What would they do? That was one really good question. He didn't know. He just didn't know. All Malcolm knew was that Ollie Reeder was a fucking dead man. He would pay for that.  
“Are you sure it was Ollie? Why would he do such a thing? He knows how badly that could hurt him as well,” she argued.   
Another good question. “Because he's a prick. Pricks don't need a sane reason to fuck shit up. Look at Nicola. She's been doing that professionally for a long time,” Malcolm took a deep breath. He needed a plan and he needed it now because once he stepped outside that door he was running the risk of bumping into a journalist and they would definitely have questions for him. He needed to know what to do.  
“So?” Clara asked, her voice only a whisper, “What now?”  
Malcolm turned around to look at her. Clara, beautiful, smart Clara. She had no idea either.  
“I will handle this,” he replied, the determination back in his voice, “You will stay here today and I will handle this. I will find a solution.”  
“I could help,” she suggested hopefully but unfortunately this time she really couldn't. Oh, he wished she could.  
“No,” he replied calmly, “You'll only end up with blood on your skirt when I dismember Ollie Fucking Reeder.”

* * *

Malcolm stormed through the DoSAC office and he was well aware that everyone had read the article about him and Clara. He could hear them whisper and talk behind his back and some men even whistled after him, but he decided not to care as he made his way towards Ollie. As soon as he had spotted Malcolm he scrambled out of his chair.  
“It wasn't me,” he said hurriedly, but Malcolm had already reached for his tie and was dragging him into the nearest empty office.  
“Malcolm,” Ollie tried to reason with him as Malcolm shoved him against the table.  
“How dare you?!” he barked at him, “How fucking dare you?! You _knew_ this could damage the party-”  
“Malcolm-”  
“You _knew_ this isn't just about me or Clara, this is about you as well! It can end up costing your fucking job as well as mine!”  
“ _It wasn't me!_ ”  
“You were the only who knew! Who else could have told the press? Father Christmas? The Easter Bunny? No,” Malcolm was still shouting and only now did he see that several DoSAC employees were gathering around the glass windows. They all knew now. It didn't matter what they overheard. “It was you!”  
Malcolm stepped forward and when he looked into Ollie's face he was ready to punch him. A few more seconds and he would have done it but suddenly Ollie reached behind himself and pulled out another newspaper. Malcolm didn't even want to look at it, but the picture caught his attention for just a moment.  
“They caught you on tape,” Ollie said vehemently, “It wasn't me.”

Malcolm took the Daily Mirror from him and started to read. Of course it was the fucking Mirror. What other newspaper would print a photo of him and Clara being more than just a little friendly with each other in the privacy of a cupboard. Right now he was even thankful that they were only kissing in the picture, although the article made it more than clear that they had seen the rest of the tape as well. And of course his threats towards Ollie.  
“See?” Ollie asked him after a moment, “I never said a word. They must have a security camera in there for whatever reason.”  
Suddenly a knock on the door tore Malcolm from his thoughts and he looked up to see Terri standing in the door frame, holding a phone.  
“It's the Mirror, asking for you,” she said.  
Malcolm let out a long and heavy sigh. He had to think of something. And he had to think of it now.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting on this story :) I had so much fun writing it, as always. Next week I will go on holiday in London and Cardiff, but when I return I will start a new Whouffaldi AU fic. I don't have a title for it yet, but keep your eyes open for it :)

Clara rose from the sofa as soon as Malcolm entered the living room and she instantly realized that he looked more than exhausted. Whatever had happened today it had been hard on him and it made her nervous. Whatever had happened, it concerned her, too. It concerned them both.  
“How did it go?” she asked but instead of replying Malcolm stepped forward and pressed his lips on hers in a long, soft kiss. Clara felt her tension melt away under his touch, knowing that at least he wasn't mad at her.  
“I'm sorry, Clara,” Malcolm apologized and suddenly she felt a little afraid again. What had he done? What was going to happen now?  
“What did you do?” she asked him, her voice wavering, “What's going to happen?”  
He gave her a soft smile. “I made a little announcement and I sincerely hope you're not too mad at me.”  
Clara couldn't help but frown at him as he took her hand and led her to sit on the sofa next to him. Oh dear, they were in for a long conversation, she could tell already. But would she like the outcome?  
“You're firing me, right?” she bit down on her lip, “We were caught. I can't be your intern any longer.”  
“No,” he shook his head, “No, no, no. You will finish this internship as planned. Quitting is out of the question now.”  
“The what is it? What have you told them?”  
Malcolm inhaled sharply, hesitating for a moment. “I've told them that we're dating.”  
“You _what_?”  
He reached out to take her hand again, but it didn't aid to making Clara feel any better. What he said made no sense to her at all right now.  
“Right now,” Malcolm said calmly, “The media is treating this as a scandal. We can't undo what has already happened – as much as I wish we could. The cat is out of the bag and I had to react somehow. Denying it won't help, they have pictures,” he argued, shrugging, “So I decided to say that we are. . . an item.”  
Clara could do nothing but stare at him as she took in what he was telling her.  
“The media will continue to talk about it, so I decided, instead of keeping quiet, we should go public. If you want to, of course.”  
“Public? What does that mean?”  
Malcolm rolled his eyes. “It means that I will take you to dinner, you will be my plus one at every event we attend, I will give you a kiss on the cheek while the press is lurking behind a bush with their cameras. All the things couples do,” he explained impatiently.  
She frowned at him in disbelief, still not sure whether she was understanding him correctly. “And you want that?”  
“I want us to continue. I don't necessarily want it public, but right now our choices are quite limited. It's better to be a couple in public than to be a scandal in the newspapers,” he paused, eyeing her with caution, “The question is, do _you_ want that?”  
Being in an official relationship with Malcolm and keeping her internship?  
“Yes,” Clara replied, smiling broadly at him. “Yes, of course.”

Clara couldn't hold back any longer. She bent forward and pressed a long kiss to his lips that Malcolm broke off way too soon.  
“It won't be easy though, I'm afraid. The press will be all over us and they will keep asking you and they will say you only got your job because of me. We have to get through that somehow.”  
“Job?” Clara raised her eyebrows once more.  
“Well, once you've got your degree you will come back to London to work for the government of course. I've spoken to the Prime Minister before America and he agreed to find you a suitable position that fits your talents. Maybe even as his own personal secretary. I've asked him again after today and he wasn't happy about that but he will keep his promise. _If_ that is what you want.”  
Clara beamed at him, for a moment not knowing what to say. She had no idea how Malcolm had done it but right now she couldn't be more thankful that he had. Maybe she could have everything after all.

* * *

_7 Months Later_

 

Clara stepped out of the train station and looked around. She didn't need very long until she spotted him, standing by the car with a large bouquet of flowers, smiling in her direction.   
Clara crossed the distance between the two of them and flung her arms around Malcolm in a tight embrace. “I've missed you so much,” she whispered, “Who knew six months could be that long.”  
“They were longer for me,” he replied before he pecked her on the lips and handed her the flowers, “Congratulations! A+ - better than what it says on my degree.”  
Clara nudged him gently. “That's because I'm smarter than you,” she grinned at him, “Smart enough to be the Prime Minister's personal assistant.”  
He snorted. “Only because that cunt's too lazy to write his own speeches. I will never know how he could get re-elected.”  
“Be glad he did cause otherwise we wouldn't be here.”  
“Speaking of which,” Malcolm said, placing his arm around her waist and leading her back to the car, “I know of a much better place to be than in front of the train station.”  
“Oh?” Clara cocked an eyebrow at him, “And where would that be? Nice restaurant? The London Eye? The office?”  
Malcolm bent down to whisper into her ear. “Bedroom.”  
Clara giggled in response and suddenly she was very grateful to have arrived on a Friday. The would have the entire weekend before they both had to go back to work on Monday morning.   
When Malcolm had loaded her suitcase into the boot he slid into the driver's seat and looked at her once more, this time not smiling. “The newspapers will be full of articles about us next week. It's died down a bit but as soon as you begin your job they will start talking about how you got it because you're sleeping with me,” he said gravely.  
“Isn't that really how I got it?”   
He frowned. “Is that what you think?”  
Clara only shrugged, not having thought about it very much.   
“I put in a word for you because you are the best,” Malcolm said earnestly, “And the media will come to see that, too. Eventually. Hopefully.”  
Clara smiled at him. “I can handle it,” she told him calmly, “And now shut up about work and drive me home.”  
“Excuse me?” Malcolm raised his eyebrows at her.  
“You're no longer my boss, Malcolm. Now you're my boyfriend,” she giggled right before he bent down to kiss her.


End file.
